The Seer
by Scotch-Mist
Summary: What the Old Ones might have been up to in the 1600s... This first chapter is really a prologue.The Being Human characters and world belong to Toby Whithouse.
1. Chapter 1

THE SEER

Chapter One

Lancaster Castle 1612

"I'm looking for a woman."

"Aren't we all sir?"

The stranger smiled.

"A very particular one."

"Well what did you have in mind sir? We have all sorts in just now."

The warden was eyeing up his chances to make money, five men stood before him, well dressed. Tonight could be a profitable one, he smiled to himself.

"I understand a woman was brought in from Whitekirk? She did me a favour once; I was looking to repay the debt."

"Yes sir. But I fear she's not long for this world. Are any of us though?" He laughed wheezily as he reached for the keys on the table behind him.

"Indeed." The stranger's smile was tightening.

The warden beckoned to the men to follow him.

"She was brought in two nights back. A right to do as well. She was to be burnt but they couldn't get the damn thing to light. She's due before the justice again but it's a hanging job now. Are you sure you want this one sir? There's a younger blonde from over Whalley way. Very pretty. Husband laid charges against her..."

But the stranger wasn't listening, he'd already heard a familiar heartbeat, and he had wasted enough time on this prattling fool.

"Through here?" He pointed to a narrow cobbled corridor of cells, dimly lit with tallow candles.

"Yes sir. Down the stairs at the end. Will you be needing somewhere more..." His words trailed off as he turned to look at the stranger, his leer giving way to surprise at the man's now jet black eyes. He never even felt the blow that killed him, as he crumpled to the ground the stranger reached for the keys and calmly stepped over the warden's body.

"Feed, but make it clean and quick. I don't think he'll be much missed." He glanced at the cells. Most of the prisoners were asleep, getting what peace they could before the trials to come. Two women were awake though, and they shrank back as he passed. They knew what he was but it didn't matter. The only one who mattered was in that room and her time was running out.

He took one of the candles down from a sconce on the wall and unlocked the heavy oak door. Even with his powerful eyes he had to strain to see round the room in the poor light. He found some more candle stubs on a small table by the door and lit them before locking the door behind him.

The woman lay in the far corner of the room, her back to the door. Her dress had been torn down her back, exposing red raw weals on her flesh. Blue black bruises covered her arms. Her breathing was shallow and faint. Her heartbeat was slowing; he could almost feel the life slipping out of her. She was more dead than alive but she'd clung on so far.

The hand that reached down was cold and she instinctively flinched, waiting for more pain. The hand turned her face gently towards a pair of cold blue eyes.

"I told you there were worse things in this world than vampires, Jenny."


	2. Chapter 2

THE SEER

Chapter Two

Lancashire 1611

"Wake up! There's something out there..." The little girl was shaking her mother as hard as she could.

"What?" Her mother was coming out of a deep sleep. "What is it?"

"Can't you hear it?"

"Hear what?" ever since they'd moved to this cottage her daughter had been jumping at the slightest noise; it was probably just a fox cutting through the garden.

"That."

She could hear it now, a snuffling sound outside the kitchen window.

"Stay here." She grabbed her cloak, pulled it round her shoulders and opened the front door. The night air was cool; stars were coming out in the sky. The noise seemed to be coming from behind the garden wall. She edged round to the gate and opened it cautiously, to find a rider less black horse eating its way through windfall apples.

"Easy...where did you come from eh?" She was patting its muzzle when she noticed the blood and the torn leather on the horse's saddle. Had someone had an accident? She couldn't see anyone nearby, but the horse had to have come from somewhere.

"Aw. He's beautiful, can we keep him?" Her daughter was keeking round the gate, goggle-eyed at the horse.

"Will you ever take a telling? No we can't keep him. I think the owner will want him back don't you?"

"Finders keepers?" She had to suppress a smile. Her daughter had an answer for everything. Undoing the saddle, she could see little nicks in the horse's skin. Just what had happened to its rider?

"Here, take him round to the stable. Use the ointment from the blue jar on his cuts."

As the little girl moved away pulling the reluctant horse, her mother turned back to look for its rider. The moon was now out, casting light through the trees, but the night was turning bitterly cold, anyone lying injured wasn't likely to make it to the morning. She'd only been searching for a short while when she heard a low moaning coming from her left. She could just make out a slumped figure on the ground ahead of her and she started to run towards it.

She turned the figure over, to reveal a dark-haired man, deathly pale, with deep-looking wounds to his chest. No accident then. She couldn't leave him here, in all conscience; he'd clearly been attacked by someone, and what if they were still looking for him? It was a split-second decision to start pulling him towards the cottage. He'd lost a lot of blood from the look of him; at least she could make him comfortable if nothing else. He was murmuring something; she couldn't make out the words.

"It's alright. You're safe. Isobel? Give me a hand." Between the two of them they managed to get him to the front door of the cottage, but could pull him no further, it was as though he'd become a dead weight.

"Who do you think he is?" asked her daughter.

"He's probably that fine horse's owner so it looks like you'll have to give him back Isobel. Now, one last time." This time it was as though his weight lifted at once and they finally managed to pull him into the cottage. She pulled him through to her bedroom, and with Isobel's help, managed to haul him onto the bed.

"Right. Go and get a basin of hot water from the kettle on the fire, and my bag of tricks. I'll get him settled." That should keep her busy for a while, she thought, she wanted a good look at those wounds. The man was murmuring again, but she still couldn't make out the words. She undressed him quickly, taking note of the quality of his clothes; fine wool and linen.

"Who are you?" she wondered out loud. She didn't think he was a local, then again she kept herself to herself, she'd deliberately chosen the cottage for its isolation. He seemed familiar, though she couldn't quite place his face. Isobel was back, balancing a basin and an old leather bag.

"Right madam, bed."

"Aw..."

"Now. Go on."

She turned back to her mysterious patient. She began to bathe his wounds, which included a very deep one near his heart. Tiny slivers of wood seemed to be embedded in some of the wounds; she removed as many as she could, just what had happened to him? She reached into her bag and rummaged for a jar she knew she had and a small bottle. She applied the ointment and dressed his wounds the best she could, then mixed the contents of the bottle with some water and looked at the man's face. He seemed to be watching her but then his eyelids shut, and she thought she must be mistaken. She felt his forehead, his body seemed to be both burning and shivering at the same time, but she could find no feverish heat. Her fingers moved down to his neck to feel for a pulse but she couldn't find one. That made no sense at all, he was clearly here and breathing...she must be overtired or something. She bathed his forehead and spoke softly to him:

"Well whoever you are, you're safe here." Curling up in a chair with a book, she watched over him until she fell into a light sleep. She woke with a start. The man was whispering to himself.

"What is it?" she moved over to him and saw his eyes were half open. He seemed to be fretful so she stroked his face trying to reassure him. The more she looked at him, the more she thought she knew him from somewhere, those eyes were familiar... but from where? He was whispering something. She bent down to catch his words.

"Sorry."

He grabbed her left arm with one hand and her neck with the other, and bit down hard on her wrist. She was choking, pain was shooting to her brain and all she could think was "please not Isobel. Don't...please..." as she felt everything go dark.


	3. Chapter 3

THE SEER

Chapter Three

Sunlight was streaming into the bedroom. She opened her eyes, her head was swimming. She was lying on her bed, how did ... She saw her wrist, it had been bound with a white cloth and it came rushing back to her. She cried out for her daughter and tried to get up, but her body felt like water and she fell back.

"The little one's safe."

Her "patient" was sitting in the same chair she'd sat watching over him in, half-dressed, watching her intently. She pulled herself up, still feeling groggy.

"Where is she?"

"I sent her to the village. She's perfectly safe. I won't harm her. You really should be more careful about dragging strange men into your cottage though."

She was holding his gaze but she was thinking her way around the room for a weapon of some kind. What the hell was he? No one could recover that quickly from wounds that severe. He couldn't be human, and she'd brought him into their home. And she'd been so careful for so long.

"What are you?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious. Especially to someone like you."

"Vampires don't exist, not anymore."

He was smiling now. "Keep telling yourself that. You might even start believing it." He stood up and started to walk about the room.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a healer."

"You do yourself a disservice there. Not just a healer, a physician in all but name. Books by Galen and Vesalius...I couldn't have been in better hands, could I?" He was picking out books from the shelves behind the door, if she could just get out the door...

"You wouldn't make it. I took a bit more blood than I should have, your body's still too weak. You should be fine in a day or so. I apologise, I'm normally a much better guest." He turned. The smile was rueful this time.

"Edgar Wyndam." He extended his right hand, she shook it automatically.

"Jenny... Smith."

"Smith? Right, I'll play the game." He sat back down in the chair.

"I'd burn that book if I were you." He was pointing to a small leather-bound book on the table. "People have been burnt for a lot less but then you'd know all about that."

What did he know? He couldn't know what had happened...She was afraid to look at him in case she gave herself away but she made herself look straight back at him, his smile was now gone.

"You see, when we drink, after we drink I should say, we get your memories; the good, the bad, the unhappy ones... the ones you bury so deep you think no one will ever find them... and we've met before Jenny." His eyes were boring into her, yet she couldn't look away, she could barely breathe.

"It must have been about twenty years or so ago. You'd have been about the same age as your daughter is now. It was in Edinburgh, on the Castle Hill. You were with your father; he made you watch as they burnt your mother for being a witch. You were wearing a blue dress if I remember correctly."

She was staring at him in horror, she was remembering all the graphic details; the smell of the wood, the smoke, the heat, the crowd, the little white gloves she'd worn.

"You ran towards the fire and reached in to help her, which is more than your father ever did by the way. That's how you got that scar on your right arm."

She was remembering where she'd seen him.

"You were the one who pulled me back. But that was...you're still the same..."

"Oh I'm older than I look. I remember yelling at your father for making you watch. It was barbaric and coming from a vampire that's saying something." There was no malice or triumph on his face, just a strange look as though he was contemplating how far he could go.

"He traded your mother's life for his position. He plotted against the Scottish King and when he was caught out, he handed her over on a plate just to save his own skin." He turned to a pitcher on the dresser and poured out a cup of water and handed it to her.

"You look as though you could do with something stronger but this will have to do."

Her hand was shaking as she drank, still keeping her eyes firmly on his face.

"Where was I? Ah yes," he sat back down and leant forwards.

"I take it your grandmother took you on after your mother's death? Did she take you back to Applecross?" Her eyes widened.

"Oh yes, I'm well aware of your family's history. A very old family, very strong blood. Of course, only the female side has the gift."

"What gift would that be?" she whispered.

"Oh Jenny," the smile was back on his face, "Really? The gift of second sight. A gift, or a curse, depending on your point of view I suppose. You see the things other people can't; the shadows in the light, the little cracks between, hear the whispers in the dark..."

Her head was aching but she couldn't look away.

"I don't know what..." she stammered.

"The blood never lies, Jenny. You're powerful but something's wrong with your abilities. You should have spotted me a mile off but you didn't. You can look at someone and see inside them, and know what's ailing them, even see their future sometimes... I saw that in your blood."

She was feeling dizzy now, how much blood had she lost? Where was Isobel? If something had happened to her, wouldn't she have felt it? She thought she could hear whispers, as though spirits were near but couldn't quite reach her, the pain was worse now.

"Breathe. Look at me." He got up and moved towards her.

"You know about an aura. What do you see?" He was watching her curiously, as though he was weighing her up.

"Red, blood red," she whispered, her eyes narrowing.

"How very appropriate," he murmured. "Anything else?"

"Black. A black heart...with a ...silver" He broke the connection instantly, seemingly satisfied, and pulled back from her.

"You really need to learn how to shut your mind away. That's why it hurts. The spirits are controlling you; it should be the other way round." He changed track with her.

"How is your grandmother?"

"She died." He was pouring more water for her.

"That explains it. Here, drink this." He waited for her to finish before sitting down again. She heard him groan for a second and saw a flash of pain on his face.

"You're not completely healed are you?"

"Not quite," he smiled.

"That's how you ended up back in Edinburgh isn't it? Where your father was yet again in trouble." He was watching her closely again. _She didn't know..._

"Did you never question his motives? He'd got away with it once before. It was so easy for him to blame "witchcraft" again and he had a ready made pawn... he was the one who named you, he was the reason you were imprisoned..."

She couldn't breathe, she wanted to look away but somehow she couldn't. He continued, his tone matter-of-fact.

"The last I heard of you was that you'd somehow escaped and disappeared. I don't remember anything about a child but then we all do things to survive..."

What little colour there was in her face blanched away. Oh god, how could he know what she'd had to do to get out of that cell? He had to be lying about her father, but the doubts had already set in. She was remembering going to her father's house to beg for help, his face when he'd seen her, he'd thrown money at her, told her to find a new life. She'd thought it was guilt at her mother's death but what if it was really fear? She was remembering the look; he'd been terrified at the sight of her.

"Exactly."

"Stop it. Get out of my head. Please."

He was looking at her with something close to pity, she really hadn't known.

"Such an easy charge to make, so difficult to disprove. You did what you had to, to survive. There's no shame in that," his tone was softer now.

"What was the last thing my mother said to me that day, all those years back?" she whispered. She was trying to close her mind, thinking only of Isobel.

"She told you to live."

She felt the tears fall down her face, the release, and she was able to look away from those blue eyes. She was tired, so tired. But Isobel...

"...will be fine. I've told you she's safe with me. You're tired. Sleep now."

She lay back against the pillows, her head heavy, trusting his voice.

He watched her fall into a deep sleep; he was waiting for her breathing to slow. He moved slowly towards her, listening for sounds of her daughter coming back. He stroked her hair, and then he bent down to unbind her left wrist. Finally he knelt to drink her blood again, his eyes turning black as he bit down softly into her wrist. She gave a slight moan and he pulled back from her. Just a taste this time, just enough. He bound her wrist with a fresh cloth and sat down in the chair, watching over her until he fell asleep himself.


	4. Chapter 4

THE SEER

Chapter Four

When she woke it was again dark. Isobel was sitting on the bed watching her impatiently."I thought you were never going to wake up. Mr. Wyndam said you were to drink that," she pointed to a tankard on the bedside table.

"What is it?"

"He said it was beef tea, good for the blood."

_Well he'd know all about that wouldn't he, she thought._ She was so hungry, she drank it anyway. She still felt weak, but her head felt clearer, and the pain was gone.

"Come here you. Since when do you listen to what a stranger tells you? I've told you umpteen times not to talk to strangers."

She was hugging Isobel, and at the same time running her fingers over her skin, checking her skin for bite marks. Isobel took a deep breath, knowing she was in for a telling off.

"I know but Mr. Wyndam said it would be alright. He wanted to thank us for taking care of him and his horse, and then you weren't well, so I said I'd go to the village for him and he said he'd look after you 'til I got back."

_I'll bet he did._ She looked over at the bedroom door which was closed over.

"Isobel, fetch my trinket box over will you?"

She quickly washed and changed into fresh clothes, whilst Isobel rummaged in her dresser. She pulled out a small wooden box and brought it over to her mother.

"What happened to your wrist?"

"Oh it's just a bit sore that's all."

She smiled at her daughter, who seemed content at her smooth lie. She looked through the few pieces of jewellery, pulling out a small silver necklace.

"Isobel, this was your great-grandmother's. I think she'd want you to have it. Now you have to promise me to keep it on and look after it."

She slipped it over Isobel's head and kissed her forehead. "Now do you promise?"

"Yes Mother." Isobel was turning the little necklace over. It was a little silver cross, beautifully detailed.

"Oh I was to tell you supper was nearly ready." Isobel jumped down from the bed.

Supper? She had no food in the house; she'd been due to go to the village for provisions.

"Isobel," she called after her but she'd already scampered over to the door and had it open before she could reach her.

"Ah the patient! Feeling better?"

Wyndam was sitting at the kitchen table, smiling, perfectly at ease and seemingly healed. The table was set for three, with a large piece of roast beef at the centre. Isobel was scurrying about, giving Jenny a chance to look at Wyndam. His colour had changed. That's my blood that's caused that, she thought. He looked up at her. They were studying each other.

"Make yourself at home why don't you?" she whispered.

"Thank you I will." the smile was back in place.

"As I was saying Isobel, your mother needs building up."

"Thanks to you," she whispered a little louder this time, eyeing up the food and Isobel.

The smile was still there. If anything it was wider.

"It was the least I could do after your kind hospitality. Especially as Isobel tells me you haven't been well lately, I mean_ before_ my arrival. A few good meals in you and you'll be fine."

She sat down opposite him, holding his gaze. She leaned forward and whispered, "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Yes I am actually."

Isobel had returned, carrying a large carving knife. Wyndam's eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of the cross, but he said nothing.

"I'd better take that little one, take these apples to my horse, and come straight back."

He stood to carve the meat; it was as though he was waiting for her questions.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I haven't decided yet." The knife cut into the meat.

"Why isn't she afraid of you?"

He turned to look directly at her.

"You've known fear Jenny. She hasn't." He continued, "You've protected her from the monsters without and within. And when they get too close, you run and hide and start again. Am I correct?"

She gave a slight nod, eyeing him warily.

"You're a long way from home, Seer."

Wyndam started to pour ale into two tankards. "Scottish and no illicit still out the back? Tut-tut!

Jenny smiled in spite of herself. "Are you trying to get me drunk now?"

He sat down with a mock sigh. "No, you are a Scot after all. I think I'd lose that wager."

Before she could answer back, Isobel had come back into the room and sat down at the table, gazing openly up at Wyndam. He took the cue."Well, shall we eat?"

Isobel gave a polite little cough. "We usually say grace when we have a visitor at the table."

Jenny's head shot round in amazement at her daughter's remark, whilst Wyndam's face was a picture of perfectly studied innocence. Thoroughly amused now, he leant towards her and whispered, "You're quite right Isobel, but I think God will let you away with one night off."

Even Jenny was smiling. "Out of the mouth of babes..." He turned back with a slightly quizzical look to her.

"Oh that'll be her Uncle Robert. Any more pious he'd be running the Church of Scotland."

He burst out laughing, "Oh you're good for the soul Jenny."

"You mean you have one?" she countered slyly. It was out before she realised what she'd said. There was darkness in his eyes for just a second before he smiled that rueful smile again.

"I'll let you have that one. Now I hate to see a perfectly good meal go to waste..."

The strange meal passed quickly. Wyndam was good company; charming and polite, but Jenny could see a sharpness to his features every so often, it was there under the surface, in a gesture or a look. Once you knew he was a vampire you could see how that smile could turn forbidding, and those eyes that were so blue could turn cold and ruthless. The wound on her wrist was proof of what he was. The strength he'd shown even when badly injured...It was a game of cat and mouse being played out, one she knew she couldn't win. The best she could hope for was their survival, one way or another.

"Now young lady, you are dead-tired on your feet there." Isobel's head was resting on the table but Jenny looked at Wyndam pointedly.

"Sorry, gallows humour can't help it. I'd say it was well past your bedtime wouldn't you?" Isobel was rubbing her eyes but for once she didn't argue over going to bed.

"I think your mother would like you to sleep in her room tonight little one," he spoke softly to the child but was watching Jenny's reactions with those keen eyes.

"Why?"

"I'll let you into a little secret Isobel. Even you mother gets afraid of the dark once in a while. She'd never admit it though," he smiled at her.

"Alright. Goodnight Mum." She turned towards her mother's room, went a few steps and turned back. "Goodnight Mr Wyndam. Thank you for the lovely meal."

"My pleasure, little one. Sleep well." He watched her walk away then he rose from the table.

"She does you credit Jenny," he lowered his voice, "especially as she wasn't exactly planned..."

She cut him off, "They were my mistakes, not her's," she said quietly, "It wasn't her fault." She started to clear away the plates, avoiding his gaze.

"Leave that."

"You're used to people doing exactly what you say aren't you?" She was keeping her distance.

"Generally speaking, yes." He was leaning against the table; arms crossed watching her intently again.

"Sit down. I want to finish our discussion."

"No." He blinked in surprise.

"No? Oh you're fighting me now are you? Very well. Drink." He motioned to her tankard. She raised it slightly, and then slammed it down on the table.

"That's better. That's more like it. You're getting a bit more control back."

"I'm glad you approve," she said dryly.

"Even better, sarcasm!" His smile was widening all the time.

"Please, sit down." His tone was milder this time. They both sat down at the table again, facing each other. Wyndam poured some more ale into the tankards and raised his own in a toast."Your very good health. Start as we mean to go on." She raised her tankard. "Slainte".

He made a slight face at the ale. "I must remember to bring some decent brandy or whisky with me the next time."

"The next time?" Her unease was obvious in her voice.

"Yes Jenny, the next time I pass this way. You interest me. Most humans are either fools or complete idiots, but every now and then one surprises me. You are something different, something new. You're a mix of the old world and the new, superstition and science combined." He pointed at her. "There's a hunger in you for knowledge, you're curious about the world out there and yet you're hiding away in this charming little cottage. You are a complete contradiction in terms. It's as though you're not of your time. You don't fit in, you stand out. The question is what do we do with you?"

"We?"

He didn't answer her question, he merely smiled at her.

"I'm minded to let you live Jenny, for now at least. Partly because I'm a bit twisted that way, and partly because you didn't beg for your life, you asked me to spare Isobel, instead, without a thought for your own. That tells me a lot about you but that's for another day." Wyndam turned his head towards the door, he'd heard or sensed something that she couldn't.

"Ah! About time." She could hear it now, the sound of horses' hooves and men's voices nearing the cottage. The door was battered loudly.

_Oh God there were more of them!_ She knew it the minute she looked at his face, which was now strangely devoid of any emotion. There was a steely look in his eyes and he was studying her closely again.

"Word of advice, don't run, I will find you. I've tasted your blood now and there's nowhere you can hide from me now."

The tension was back in her now; every nerve was telling her to do just that.

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" His look was questioning. She was just about to say something when the door was hammered again.

"You picked the wrong county for a quiet life, Jenny." The smile was back again as he stood up. "That's enough to wake the dead. Yes I am here Harper. You'd better open the door before he breaks it."

She reluctantly opened the door to find two men, one tall and fair-haired, she took him to be Harper, the other was shorter but powerfully built. Both were dishevelled, as though they'd ridden for miles.

"I'm sorry sir. We had a bit of trouble to deal with, and we weren't sure..."

"Whether I'd _survived_, Harper?" Wyndam addressed the taller vampire, who had the sense to look down at his feet, away from his master's piercing gaze.

"I'm very sorry sir. I didn't mean to doubt..." he looked back up at Wyndam apprehensively, waiting for his ruling.

"You're young Harper so you're still learning. I'll let this pass. Besides, I've been well looked after by the lady of this house." He turned back towards Jenny, just as the shorter vampire sniggered. He froze, just for a moment, before continuing, "Milligan on the other hand knows better than to try my patience. Deal with it won't you Harper?"

He took Jenny's arm and guided her away from the door. She could hear a scuffle outside.

"They couldn't come in could they?"

"Not without an invitation. One of those rules no one actually seems to remember making." He was getting ready to leave.

"How could you come in without being invited?"

"That'd be telling." He was smiling again. "I'm afraid I must take my leave now. Thank you again for your very kind hospitality," he took her hand, "I haven't enjoyed myself so much in ages. Goodnight Jenny. You'll be seeing me again soon." He'd closed the door before she realised he'd let go of her hand. She dived for the key in the lock before it dawned on her how futile it was.

Meanwhile, Wyndam was contemplating a conversation he'd had in a tavern years before. She'd been worth waiting for. He was quite taken with her, he had to admit. There was a quick intellect there, a brain and spirit, ice and fire. And above all, potential. How best to use that potential?

Harper had brought his horse round from the stable. He knew better than to disturb his master when he had that inscrutable expression on his face.

"No one touches her. She is under my protection. As is the child."

"Yes sir." Harper mused for a moment. "The village, sir?"

"Also out of bounds. Pass the word." Wyndam reined in his horse and looked back at the cottage. The look on his face was now calculating. I wonder if she'll run?

Back in the cottage, Jenny ran to her bedroom to hold Isobel as tight as she could, waking her up just to hear her voice. There were tears in her eyes and even half-asleep her daughter knew something was wrong. She smiled down at her, "It's nothing sweetheart. I'm just a wee bit afraid of the dark tonight." Another night of keeping the monsters without. She had seen a flash of her future when Wyndam had held her hand; Isobel disappearing in a sea of bodies, a terrible emptiness, and Wyndam kneeling down beside her. And it terrified her.


	5. Chapter 5

THE SEER

Chapter Five

The next morning dawned with a sky so blue it was easy to imagine it had all been a nightmare. One look at the kitchen and the reality hit. The remains of the meal were still there. She looked in the larder and found more food that Isobel must have brought back from the village on Wyndam's errand. That lot would have cost a pretty penny, she thought. Just what she needed, more gossip in the village. They already had her down as the lord of the manor's mistress; well they'd got that one wrong. Speaking of which, she was due to pay her rent, she'd have to go to the village. Listen to yourself, Jenny, making plans to pay rent when you should be running! She didn't doubt that Wyndam would come after her whether she ran or she stayed, she'd seen his mask slip and he couldn't let that go. The strange thing was she did trust him where Isobel was concerned, but what did a vampire's word mean? The little she knew about vampires she had gleaned from her grandmother, who'd been strangely reticent on the subject. She remembered pressing her grandmother who had eventually told her that most had died in the Dark Times, hundreds of years before and she wasn't to ask about them again. Their kind had suffered terrible losses in those days, and so had the vampires. Her grandmother had been slowly losing her faculties at the time; time taking its inevitable toll on that remarkable spirit, but Jenny was remembering their last conversation. Her grandmother was lying in the front room of her old house in Applecross, no longer able to climb up the twisting staircase. She had nursed her to the end, until her grandmother could no longer see, and she knew it was coming. Her grandmother had felt for her face, the milky-white eyes fighting to see her.

"I did the right thing didn't I Jenny?"

"What, Gran?" She'd smiled and held her hand; none of her cures could help her now.

"They'll protect you...keep you safe...It can't be that bad a life...and he's one of the strong ones..."

The door had come for her grandmother, there had been no time to question her, just enough to help her cross over, as she'd done for so many souls since. She'd put it down as an aged mind wandering. Why was she remembering these things now?

She looked round the cottage. It was the first real home they'd had in so long. The villagers were only now beginning to trust her, of course they still gossiped about her, but word of mouth was bringing them to her door for remedies that actually worked. She had even heard the baker's wife referring to her as the "wise woman". She had a little money left, and a few pieces of her grandmother's jewellery that she'd managed to hide when her brother had come to deal with her estate, or in other words take everything that wasn't nailed down. She could appeal to her brother for help, but that meant giving away where she was, and there was a cat in hell's chance of him agreeing to help her anyway. Run and hide, or sit and wait?

She got Isobel ready and set off for the village. She left Isobel playing with her little friend Ruth, under the watchful eye of her mother. At least one of them could have some fun today. She continued on to the manor house to pay her rent. A letter was waiting for her with the factor, Mr Burnett. The seal was unbroken. She didn't recognise the hand but the seal was her late grandmother's. Something from home. She thanked the factor, who asked her to look in on his wife when she could. There was worry in his eyes so she agreed to visit her on the way home. A ruddy-faced man passed her on her way out but she paid him no heed, her mind was on other things. He waited until she was out of earshot then turned to the factor. "I have a matter to discuss with your employer, regarding the woman who just left..."

She waited until she reached the churchyard to open the letter, sitting down to read it in the lych-gate. Inside was a brief letter, dated a month ago from her grandmother's former housekeeper, a woman she trusted. How she'd managed to get the letter to her she didn't know. Her brother was dead, killed in a hunting accident. The rumour around Sutherland was that he'd been drunk and taken a heavy fall. She felt no grief, remembering his attitude the one time he'd met Isobel. He had looked down his nose at the two of them, making it clear he considered her "fallen". That was rich coming from that most devout of hypocrites. The letter ended with a warning to her. On no account was she to return north. Her father's lawyer had been seeking information on her whereabouts again.

She folded the letter up and walked to the factor's cottage. His wife welcomed her warmly, but she knew the minute she saw her that she was seriously ill. Jenny could see the pain inside her and hear the racking coughs, and she knew there was nothing she could do. She sat with her awhile until Mr Burnett came home. One look at her face told him all he needed to know. "I can ease her pain but that's all. I'm sorry." He turned away from her. "You're not well yourself, Miss. You're very pale."_If __you __only __knew __why..."_A man came to see his lordship today. He was asking questions about you and your tenancy. I sent him away with a flea in his ear. Just thought you should know."

She thanked him and went to pick up Isobel. It was too soon for anyone from home to have tracked her down here, the only one who knew her assumed identity was her grandmother's housekeeper and she trusted her completely. But then again...it had to be Wyndam, or someone working for him. That, and the letter from home, decided it for her. She was going to run and take her chance. She knew there was a coach and horses going to Chester in two nights time, if they could get there they could find a coach going south and then...she wasn't going to think that far ahead. A pile of books was lying on the step of the cottage when they got home. She picked them up and looked through some of them. Some were printed, some hand-written and leather-bound. All were books on medicine and remedies. Some were in English, others, which were older, were in Latin. One was in Greek, in which she could only understand certain words. A note was tucked into the flyleaf of the top book: "A few books so that you can continue your studies." It was signed . He moves fast, she thought. And he must be close by. She took them inside, showing no emotion, certain she was being watched. Inside the cottage she quietly packed a few things into her bag of tricks, her trinket box, what money she had, and a few clothes. She was used to travelling light but carrying this bag would make it less obvious they were fleeing. At least in theory.

The two nights passed quickly. Jenny waited 'til the dead of night and woke Isobel. "We're going on a little trip, sweetheart." Her daughter didn't demur, and they set off as though she was visiting a sick person in the village. She saw and heard nothing, beyond the normal noises of a midnight wood. She cut through the trees, leaving the path several times, and turning back on herself a few times. If her daughter thought she was behaving oddly she said nothing. She quickened their step and they made it to the main road. She was shivering with fear until the coach appeared. She was sure there was no one else nearby but her heart was still beating so fast. The coachman lifted her bag into the coach which only had two other passengers, both asleep. "Nearly ran into you in the dark there, Mrs. Making good time tonight." And then they were away.

She had just about drifted off to sleep herself when a loud bang, then a jolt, woke her. One of the horses' traces had snapped and the coach toppled to one side. A wheel had broken as well on the rough ground. They all clambered out as the coachman inspected the damage. "Just my luck. Then again..." he pointed to a village sign with his lantern, a very good inn here. That'll need to do us 'til the morning. This way, ladies and gentlemen." He unhooked the horses and led them all towards the inn; some chinks of light were still showing in its windows. She hung back not really wanting to enter an inn in the middle of the night, a lone woman and child. Isobel had fallen asleep anyway so she sat outside, with Isobel on her lap. She started when she heard horses' hooves cantering up behind her, and a man's voice. Two men on horseback, one had an extra horse with him. Her heart sank when she recognised the blond-haired vampire Harper. Isobel, now awake, on the other hand recognised the spare horse. "That's Mr Wyndam's horse."

Harper had jumped off his horse and was coming towards them, his hands raised as if he meant no harm. "Please Miss, I'm not to hurt you but you will be returning to your cottage." Her blood was up, fear making her edgy.

"Oh I will, will I?"

The other vampire went to lift Isobel up; Jenny yelled at him in fury, "Put her down now!" He let out a yelp of pain, he had touched the little cross around Isobel's neck, and he let her drop to the ground, showing his fangs as he did so. Isobel let out a cry and ran to her mother.

"You fool," Harper hissed at him, "they are not to be harmed. What part of that did you not understand?" He turned his gaze back to Jenny. "I'm sorry Miss. I was told to tell you, you are both under Mr Wyndam's protection, he was very insistent that no harm will come to you, but you will be going back..." The door to the inn opened and the coachman came out. "Is everything alright here?" Harper straightened and a hard look appeared in his eyes. She was guessing that protection didn't extend beyond her and Isobel, so she smiled at the coachman. "Yes, thank you. I'll be there in a moment." He nodded and went back inside. Harper was watching her carefully.

"And if I don't?"

"We are to follow you to Hell and back if necessary, but you will be going back Miss."

"Scaring innocent children, your mother must be so proud," she was seething.

"Apologise, Ramsey." Harper was glaring at the other vampire.

"To a human?" Ramsey was petulant.

"It's that or I tell him. You can decide which would be worse." That silenced Ramsey.

"I'm sorry." It came through clenched teeth. Isobel had stopped crying but she clung to her mother.

"How did you find us?" Harper looked at Isobel for a second and said quietly, "You've been tasted," eyeing the bandage on her arm. She looked away embarrassed.

"I don't suppose..."

"No Miss, you can't appeal to my better nature. I don't have one. And it doesn't do to cross him, not even once."

She had very few options. If they had even half the strength Wyndam had shown they had no chance. And calling for help could mean more people getting hurt. She nodded at Harper. He helped her mount the black horse and placed Isobel safely in her arms, avoiding Isobel's necklace. "Careful Miss, this horse is very strong, normally no one else can manage..." he was looking at the horse which was now standing as quiet as a lamb,"...him." He let out a relieved chuckle. They were going back.

The first light of dawn was breaking when they arrived back at the cottage. Wyndam was leaning against the garden wall, eating an apple, with a wry smile on his face. "Do you know these are really very good?" Isobel had woken up now and seeing the cottage said, "Why are we..." Wyndam leant towards her, "Your mother changed her mind Isobel." Jenny stormed past him, temper flaring.

"Bed, Isobel."

The fire had been lit. Candles were burning on the table. A bottle of brandy sat there too, with two glasses. She settled her daughter then returned to the kitchen. Wyndam was sitting pouring measures into glasses as though he owned the place, a benign smile on his face. He motioned to her to sit but she remained standing, tapping her feet with temper as much as fear.

"Please." She shot him a look but she sat down.

"To be honest I would have been disappointed if you hadn't tried to run." He was again watching her intently. "Why did you run, anyway?"

She flung the letter at him. He scanned it then looked back up at her. "I'm sure you'll miss him dreadfully." His tone was acidic. "And?"

"You sent someone to my landlord, didn't you? Asking questions about me?"

He rested his chin in his hands. "Merely to see how I could assist you. It's a fine cottage, well-built, good tenant, it's yours by the way, well it will be after tomorrow. The deeds are being drawn up."

"What? Why are you doing...you could have killed us both as we slept..."

He took a sip of the brandy then laid both hands on the table. He was considering his next words very carefully.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to drain you the other night. The restraint it took not to." He was looking at his hands, they were so white. He should have fed before coming here. Her heartbeat was so strong too. Could he still be a bit weak...?

"You have old eyes." She was studying him again. "The colour in your face, it changes...you need to feed don't you?" She was shrinking back from him but she undid the bandage on her arm all the same. He was looking at her in astonishment.

"You're not a meal Jenny."

"What am I then?" He changed the subject.

"What can I do to make you trust me?"

"Leave me alone."

"Can't do that I'm afraid," the smile was back. The keen look was there too. "There was another reason you ran, wasn't there?" His tone was soft; he was trying to pull it out of her gently. Her fingers tightened on her glass of brandy. She wasn't looking at him, she focused on the table.

"The other night, when you left...when you held my hand," she whispered.

"Yes?" He leant forward as if to catch her words.

"I saw... something."

"Not the usual response I get but go on." She told him about the images, admitting that they had frightened her. He was listening avidly now.

"Have you had such flashes before?"

"Yes." She had never admitted that to anyone before, not even her grandmother.

"And this particular one, you've had this before?" She shook her head.

"No I've had similar...dreams. I'm reaching out for Isobel and she disappears, or she falls, and the emptiness...it's like an ache, but nothing as vivid as the other night." She reached for the brandy and knocked back the rest of the glass.

Wyndam was thoughtful. How much to tell her? He was cautious.

"It could be a warning. Or it could be your own fears. You see a threat be it...myself, or your past. I've told you several times I won't harm her. She hasn't a shred of your abilities in her, perhaps that's for the best. _For__her._ It wouldn't be an easy life for her, you know that. My interest is in you. You are the last of your line." He paused to finish his own glass, how best to put it? He looked her full in the face.

"You see no future for her and that's what scared you. It could also be that your abilities won't let you see beyond a certain point..." _They __were __being __kind __to __her,__that __was __interesting._ And he had his own reasons not to let her press that point too far.

"What do you see when you look at her?" He smiled kindly at her.

"I see a child. Nothing more, nothing less." He clasped his hands together and rested them on the table.

"I'm offering my help and protection, with no conditions. I would hate you to go down that well worn path..." She reddened at that, knowing exactly what he meant.

"It would be such a waste." He let his words sink in. She looked for a hint of a sleekit look on his face, but there was none.

"Thank you for the books." Her tone was steady and calm; her nerves were easing just a little. He tipped his head, acknowledging how much effort that had taken her.

He got up from the table.

"I trust Harper and Ramsey were suitably respectful in their mission?"

"Apart from Ramsey burning himself on Isobel's cross, yes." She left out his bared fangs, thinking it wise.

He stifled a laugh. "That'll teach him." He turned at the door. "Remember this, Jenny. Whatever else I may be, I keep my word."

He left her with that. She had begun to trust him, at least a little. Now they could begin.


	6. Chapter 6

THE SEER

Chapter Six

He had kept his word. They hadn't been harmed. For whatever reason, twisted or otherwise, he had allowed her a little rebellion. She had been so afraid of what price she would pay for her defiance, Harper had actually stopped on the way back to make sure she was alright, her heart had been beating so fast he thought she was going to collapse. Instead of killing her, Wyndam had been what, amused? He had proven his point; if she ran she would be brought back. He'd even pulled back from drinking her blood again. She sat at the table for a long time after he had left, just gazing into the fire. The wound on her wrist was itching. She looked closely at it for the first time. It wasn't healing the way she expected a wound to. In fact it was still red raw. She looked for the ointment she had used on Wyndam's wounds, going over Harper's words: "You've been tasted..." Was it really that simple? They had barely got twenty miles away when Harper and Ramsey caught up with them. There were several routes they could have taken; they couldn't have known where she was going. They'd even had the spare horse with them. He'd known that she'd run, the question was which way? If she could be tracked like that, so easily, there was no chance of hiding either. She was beginning to understand how the deer felt when the hounds were after it, and she didn't like it one bit. They'd hunted her down so quickly too. He had to have had others out looking for them; Ramsey had alluded as much before Harper shushed him. All that effort for one woman and a child. But then she wasn't an ordinary woman, was she? She was a seer after all. There she had said it. Not that it had done her a lot of good so far. Running from one disaster to the next. That was the problem with the supernatural; it should be a bit more specific when it came to warnings. Such as don't drag a strange, pale-faced man into your cottage, run the opposite way as fast as you can, that would have been useful. And what good was the ability to commune with ghosts anyway? She couldn't bring them back to life, the only thing she could do was to help them pass into the afterlife, and she wasn't sure that was such a good thing. The things she'd seen...

That burning headache was starting again, where had she put the feverfew? And as for looking into people's souls, seeing their future, the little things that would cause their death or how they smiled whilst inside they sneered at her or even wished her harm, she could well do without that ability. The warnings were often too vague. Maybe that was a blessing, who really wanted to know what was going to happen to them? She'd heard tales of seers being killed because they answered a question too truthfully. Sometimes the truth couldn't be faced.

She spent a quiet day with Isobel, reading to her and helping her with her handwriting. Isobel was showing no signs of distress at the previous night's events, and she wasn't sure what to make of that. She helped Jenny with the baking; making as much mess as she usually did, and went to her bed after dinner with no fuss. She's too quiet, thought her mother. She was waiting for the crack to appear, and it came that night. She heard whimpering from her daughter's bedroom, and entered to find her daughter curled up on her bed, shaking.

"What is it sweetheart?"

"Mum, that man had...sharp teeth...his eyes were..."

"It was just a bad dream, sweetheart."

"But..."

"We're both very tired Isobel. I could sleep for a week, couldn't you?"

She knew her daughter was still doubtful, but all she could say was; "I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you Isobel." _Please __God._

"Would you like to come in with me tonight?"

Isobel nodded, seemingly calmed by her mother's words.

"And Isobel, keep that necklace on, no matter what. It'll keep you safe. Trust me."

She kissed her daughter and carried her through to her own room, spending a restless night herself, watching Isobel toss and turn.

The next morning Jenny was still jittery herself. She stoked the fire and pulled a chair in front of it. Concentrating on the flames, she cleared her mind as much as she could, breathing slowly in and out, feeling her body relax and the pain in her head ease. The whispering began words she couldn't make out. She closed her eyes and images came into her mind. She was running through rooms, laughing, and then she seemed to stumble. Her mother and grandmother were arguing, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. They turned when they saw her, and her grandmother slammed the door shut against her, but not before she heard her mother's voice: "If you look for her, you'll never find her..." Then the familiar images of Isobel, and that terrible aching feeling, and the new one of Wyndam kneeling down beside her, were back in her mind, even sharper this time. She tried to push further but the pain came back with a vengeance, forcing her to open her eyes, letting the images fade away. There was just a faint whisper in her mind; "...She will find you." It was as though fragments of her mind were missing, the pieces weren't fitting together. Then she remembered again what her grandmother had said on her deathbed: "I did the right thing didn't I Jenny?" What had she done? They couldn't have seen that far ahead, could they? They would have been trying to protect her that had to be it, the alternative was...

She jumped as the door was loudly knocked. It was a little too early for anyone to be at her door; it was probably someone wanting her healing skills. She glanced at her bedroom door. At least whoever it was hadn't woken Isobel. She opened the door to find Mr Burnett and a ruddy-faced man she didn't recognise. Burnett went to speak but the ruddy-faced man got there first.

"Madam, I believe I was expected?" Burnett was looking at the man with an active dislike, and he was known for his patience.

"No, I don't believe...who are you exactly?"

"Oh, Stephen Underwood, at your service," he bowed his head, obsequious to a fault. "I am an agent to Mr...A certain gentleman..." She gave him a dark look, which Burnett picked up on. Underwood nodded nervously, and then smiled uncertainly at her. "I believe this matter was agreed? The purchase of this cottage and the transfer of the deeds to you? I have papers for you to sign; Mr Burnett here can also stand witness." He looked sideways at Burnett, who was now looking at Jenny with a slightly odd look.

"Unusual for a property to be settled on a woman." Burnett was clearly suspicious of something.

"But not unheard of." Underwood was smiling at him as though Burnett was a child and it clearly riled him.

"I would read those through first, Miss," said Burnett. She smiled at him, she was thinking on her feet.

"Oh, I left something on the fire..." She hurried to one of the bookcases, picked up a book then dashed back to the door. "Oh I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached, would you hold that for a second, Mr Underwood?" She handed him the book then stepped back as though she was going back to the fire. She watched Underwood through the gap in the door, he looked a little perplexed, and then he remarked to Burnett; "Is she all there?"

Burnett bit a smile. "Oh I'd say so, sir. It is a Sunday after all."

Underwood looked down at the book in his hands. "A Bible? Is she religious? I thought with...you know the child..."

"Oh we're a bit more understanding here, sir. It takes all sorts to make this world, even heathens that get honest men out of their beds before even the Lord is awake."

"Gentlemen, won't you come in?" Jenny was back with what she hoped was a pleasant smile; She'd just been making sure. Underwood _was _human. Once bitten, eh? She could almost hear Wyndam's voice in her head. They sat at the table while Jenny read through the papers. On no piece of paper was Wyndam's name mentioned. The property passed directly, into her assumed name. A second paper had been made out in her family name as well. He was nothing if not thorough. She took up the proffered pen and ink. She hesitated.

"And if I don't sign it?"

"Madam?" Underwood was looking slightly flustered. Burnett was enjoying his discomfort.

"I mean it's a kind thought of our...family friend but..."

Underwood was starting to pull at his collar. I don't...erm...Madam...I'm not sure what you mean...Madam _please_," the look was now imploring, "he would be very...displeased with me." He was turning redder by the second. _He __knows __what __Wyndam __is,_ thought Jenny..._he's __got __humans __working __for __him __too..._She smiled sweetly at him as she signed the papers anyway, what did she have to lose by signing, the papers were useless if there was any kind of dispute. "And who are you really?" "Oh my real name's...and I'm currently wanted on a charge of witchcraft in Scotland..." Only a copy of the paper with her assumed name was handed back to Burnett to take back to his employer. Underwood was now keen to be on his way, greatly relieved.

"Madam," he shook her hand and practically ran for the door.

"Arrogant little toad," said Burnett. "That was the man who was asking questions about you."

"I guessed as much," Jenny admitted.

"He came back after I'd left for home, the day you visited my Mary. Demanded to be let in by his lordship's housekeeper. She refused. He came back yesterday and saw his lordship. I heard raised voices, and then his lordship yelled for me to fetch his lawyer. I haven't seen him move as fast in years. And he didn't want to sell this cottage either. A family friend did you say?" The question came out of the blue.

"Yes."

"A bit of security for you and your lass."

"Yes." _And __a __way __of __making __sure __we __stay __right __here._

"How is your wife?"

"Better. The tincture you gave her, it's helped with the pain. I'd best be getting back. I'll see myself out."

She went over to the cupboard by the fire and pulled out the brandy and one of the glasses. She poured a good measure and sat down at the table again. She thought Wyndam had been jesting with her. She didn't like the thought of being beholden to anyone, let alone a vampire. And now the village would have more gossip about her. Burnett wouldn't spread a word but the housekeeper would undoubtedly. A roof over their heads, but at what cost? She raised the glass to Wyndam anyway. She had been terrified at the prospect of coming back; now the cottage was her's. He's keeping an eye on me for some reason, she thought. Under his protection...what was it her grandmother had said? She was going over it again..."protect you...keep you safe..." and what was the other thing she'd said? She'd forgotten it again. It would come to her in the middle of the night, she was sure. "...and he's one of the strong ones..." That was it. But that meant...they wouldn't have done that to their own flesh and blood surely? She didn't believe in coincidence, but she did believe in fate, and Wyndam had been there when her mother was burnt. Mind you, most of Edinburgh had been there too, the polished veneer sliding whenever there was a burning or a hanging. He'd mentioned her grandmother too, he'd asked after her. If Wyndam was the strong one her grandmother was referring to, they had to have met, the question was why? She had no doubt he was coming back again, he would want to see what effect the signing over of the cottage had on her. She didn't have long to wait. Three nights after she had signed the papers, she was coming back from the village with Isobel trailing behind her; Wyndam was again leaning against the garden wall, while his horse was tethered to the gate.

"And where have we been this fine autumn evening?"

"A girl was giving birth. Baby boy. Not an easy one," said Jenny.

"It was horrible," said Isobel, "why did she have a baby anyway?"

Wyndam raised his eyebrows slightly. Jenny responded.

"Not had that conversation, not having it tonight Isobel."

"Yes I know Mum. Bed Isobel."

"Yes." She smiled.

"Night Mr Wyndam." Isobel petted the horse on the way in.

"Goodnight Isobel." He waited until she'd gone inside. "You look tired."

"He was a long time coming out; I don't think he'll make it. They are baptising him as soon as possible." She sighed.

"A wise decision. We are all God's children after all...some of us more than others." He said it without a trace of a smile.

"You're very strange, Wyndam." That was the first time she'd said his name out loud. He was smiling now.

"You mean you've only just come to that conclusion, Jenny?" He waved his hand towards the cottage. "Shall we?"

"Why not? You've purchased it." She really was tired.

"And it is now yours, or did Underwood fail to carry out my instructions?" He stood back to let her enter the cottage first.

"No, he was very...efficient." Wyndam was still smiling.

"He can be a little pompous and supercilious, but he is good at what he does, and he is discreet."

"I don't think anyone would last long in your employ if they weren't, Wyndam." She was thinking about that Milligan vampire.

"Don't waste your sympathy on Milligan. He would have killed you and Isobel without a second thought."

And you wouldn't? She thought it before she realised he would have heard that thought as well. She really was tired, she was normally more guarded.

"You really do need to learn how to close your mind away Jenny, that was practically a shout."

He sat down at the table and waited on her, tapping his fingers on the table. A small leather saddlebag sat at his feet. She reached for the brandy and the glasses and set them down, and then she went to check on Isobel. When she came back through, he'd already filled the glasses and one of her battered old candlesticks was now on the table, a fresh candle sitting in it, unlit. What was he up to now? She sat down opposite him; he was waiting for her to speak first.

"Why did you sign this cottage over to me?"

"I said I would. I keep my word," he said it simply. "I meant what I said the other night; you are now under my protection."

"Whether I want to be or not," she countered.

"My, such a suspicious nature..." but he was smiling all the same.

"Why were you in Edinburgh, when my mother was burnt?" The question had been eating away at her, and now was a good a time as any to see what he would say. He blinked at her as if surprised, but he answered her.

"Your mother wasn't the only one caught up in the witch trials then. A vampire was delated and dealt with quickly. A pupil, a newborn," he was watching her carefully. "He shouldn't have been anywhere near Edinburgh, but he went back to see his younger brother, who denounced him the minute he saw him. He had one eye on his inheritance apparently."

"He was the one who named him?" She was curious.

"Yes. We weren't informed until very late in the proceedings. The pupil had...argued with his maker and taken off. We'd been looking for him but...I was the nearest so it was my responsibility to get him back. I got there too late. He wasn't dead but he was too far gone...he had to be ended. It was necessary." There was a cold look on his face.

She said softly; "He ran from it...being one of you, didn't he?" She really was very perceptive, he looked up at her.

"It happens."

"What happened to his brother?"

There was the cruel tilt of a smile. "He was dealt with." There was the vampire edge she'd been looking for. She knew better than to press any further.

"As I said, your mother wasn't the only victim of those trials. Where was I? Oh yes. You use the flames of a fire for scrying don't you?"

"What? How did..."

"Blood...memories...moving on." He stood up. "Well someone's got to teach you how to close your mind away. It's a variation of that, and it should help with the pain in your head."

She looked at him sceptically, but she was intrigued. He lit the candle and stood back. He spoke softly;

"Focus on the flame. Nothing else. Clear your mind. Breathe." She turned towards him. "No. Don't look at me, look at the flame. Concentrate. Clear your mind. Breathe." He kept his voice soft and level. "Now close your eyes. Keep the flame in your mind. Breathe." She was getting stronger, he could tell. She just needed a little guidance.

"I'm curious...did your abilities grow stronger or weaker when you had Isobel? Keep the flame in your mind. Concentrate. Breathe." His tone was still soft, almost inviting confidences. He was standing quietly behind her now.

"I...I could always see things others couldn't...the doors...sometimes the corridors..."

"Yes..." He was getting closer to her.

"I lost...a lot of blood when I gave birth to her. I nearly died...I was so weak...so close to...I don't want to..."

"Just a little while longer. Did your abilities grow stronger or weaker?" He was over to her left now.

"Stronger. I could hear the voices more clearly...I don't want to hear the voices...I could see their souls under their skin...the auras were brighter..."

_Oh __someone __had __been __clever_, he thought. Maybe the mother wasn't as innocent as she had appeared...

"As who appeared?" She came out of the trance to see Wyndam standing in front of the fire, watching her with a beaming smile. She got the feeling he was testing her for some reason, and she had clearly passed.

"That should help with the pain. Anytime it comes on, try that. Its also useful if the spirits are trying to get through and you don't want them to. Here, drink that brandy. I'll get you some water too. That wasn't bad for a first attempt."

She'd finished the brandy and was now drinking the water he had poured for her. She did feel calmer somehow, and the pain was gone again.

"How...?"

"Oh I've been around for quite a while." He sat down opposite her again. "Your grandmother should have taught you these things; it really was quite remiss of her not to. She's caused you unnecessary pain. Did you hide your abilities from her?" She flashed him a look.

"She didn't like any talk of seeing...things after my mother...she encouraged me to study healing instead."

"She was probably trying to protect you." _That __cold-blooded __hypocrite_, he thought.

"It didn't work though, did it?" She smiled sadly.

"Didn't it? You're alive and very much kicking. And you have Isobel." She looked pointedly at the saddlebag. She couldn't help it, she was curious.

"Oh that can wait until tomorrow night. You're tired. You'll probably wake up with the worst headache you've ever had, but everything should be clearer." _And __some __of __those __memories __her __family __had __tried __so __hard __to __conceal __should __be __there __too __with __any __luck._

"The cottage, whatever your motives...ulterior or otherwise...thank you." She had surprised him again. He bowed his head.

"You helped me. I was able to help you."

"Am I still being watched?" He sighed.

"They will remain until I am certain that you will not repeat your disappearing act of the other night. It's for your own good, you know. They won't touch you or Isobel, it's just a precaution."

"Against?" He smiled.

"Goodnight Jenny."

He was still smiling when he untied his horse. He'd been right to let her live. Security and curiosity were the keys to her. The potential was there. It really was only a matter of time. He had waited this long, he could afford to wait a little longer. Besides, he had to be sure.


	7. Chapter 7

THE SEER

Chapter Seven

Harper was the one on watch the next night. The woman surprised him just after he'd exchanged place with Ramsey. She asked him if he had eaten, then quickly said, "I mean it's a cold night. Would you like some broth?" He really should have heard her coming, that heartbeat of her's was loud. And he really hoped that she didn't catch any of Ramsey's grumbling as he left:

"I hope he hurries up and kills her and the child soon, be the end of these bloodless nights. Do you know he's banned feeding as far as Chester? It's alright for him..."

"Ramsey, hold your tongue. You never know how close he is. The woman's important for some reason..."

"She's his bit of skirt," Ramsey interrupted him, "he'll get round to killing them and then we can get back to normal." Harper wasn't so sure. He was remembering Milligan. Ramsey continued;

"He gets these moods every so often, goes with being an Old One. She's not even that good looking..." he moved off still complaining.

There Harper disagreed with him. She had the most beautiful grey eyes he had ever seen, kind eyes, even though there was sadness in them. Chestnut brown hair, like...Rebecca. Didn't do to think of the dead, he had to remember that. That was how you went...How long was it now? Ten years, fifteen? That must have been how she'd managed to get that close to him without him realising. He'd been thinking about Rebecca again. He hadn't had a chance to feed in days, well not 'proper' food. Wyndam made sure that the vampires under his control fed well, but always in the towns and cities, there was less risk of discovery that way. And less chance of starving vampires creating problems. He accepted the bowl gratefully, the heat felt good in his hands, that was the one thing he'd never got used to, the never being able to feel warm enough, unless he'd just...She asked him his name. "Harper." She smiled at him. "No, your first name." It had been so long since anyone had asked, he was slightly thrown. "James. James Harper."

"And where do you come from, Mr James Harper?"

"Lincoln, originally." She was a strange one. She sat down on a log, as though she was conversing with a friend.

"I didn't know your accent. It's very flat isn't it, Lincolnshire?" He nodded.

"There's a fine cathedral there, I believe? I've heard that the stone seems to change colour as the sunlight changes, is that true?" He nodded again, surprised.

"I worked there. I used to live next to it, in a little house with..." he stopped himself. That was when it had all gone wrong, when he'd changed employers, gone to the Hall and the world had turned upside down...

"I'm sorry," she was speaking again, "I didn't mean to...I should get back..." There must have been a look on his face that warned her to back away. She turned back towards the cottage but stopped. "What is the cathedral like inside? Is it still the same as when you worked there?"

"I wouldn't know Miss. I can't really go back and have a look."

"Why?" The question was innocent enough.

"We can't enter..."he stopped himself again.

"...holy places," she finished his sentence for him. She smiled at him. "Enjoy the broth, Mr Harper." She knew the times they changed over, and she'd had her suspicions confirmed about holy ground. She'd been thinking about it since Ramsey had burnt himself on Isobel's cross. Then again, the cross didn't seem to affect Wyndam...

Harper watched her walk back to the cottage feeling like he'd just been taken by a fine thief, and it had been elegantly done too. There is something there, he smiled to himself. It was very tasty soup as well.

"Good evening, Harper." How did he do that...even the horse seemed able to appear silently.

"Sir."

"Anything to report? Harper...are you _eating?"_

"Um...the lady..."

"Yes..." Wyndam was leaning over his horse's neck, with that slightly possessed look, which was never a good sign.

"She was kind enough to bring me some soup. She said it was a cold night." Wyndam leaned back in his saddle.

"Well that's true enough. Anything else, Harper?" His tone was deceptively quiet.

"The lady...asked about...holy ground sir." There was no point keeping it from him, he would find out somehow, and he owed the woman no loyalty.

"And you of course told her, didn't you?" Harper nodded slowly. Wyndam was mulling it over. _She's testing the boundaries_, he thought; time to change the watchers and the times.

"Harper," he shook his head, "Sometimes I worry about you. You are one of the more promising vampires, do not make me change my opinion." Harper swallowed nervously.

"Go and join the others. I believe they are to be found in Manchester tonight, the usual places, if they are following instructions anyway."

"Thank you, sir."

He watched Harper ride away before continuing on to the cottage. She trusted Harper enough to risk approaching him; he was betting Ramsey didn't get the offer of soup. She wasn't a bad judge of character after all. Jenny was sitting by the fire, waiting for Wyndam to appear. She and Isobel had spent part of the day in the garden, cutting lavender and meadowsweet to sprinkle on the beds. Bunches of lavender hung drying by the fire, as did some other herbs she could use in her remedies. She hated waiting for anything, her nerves always started to tear at her. She kept turning her head to the front door, watching and waiting. There was a soft knock at the door. She opened it and greeted him.

"Good evening, Wyndam."

"Good evening, Jenny." She stood back to let him in. He had the saddlebag with him again.

"Apparently you've started feeding your gaolers now? I hear there is a very tasty broth on the boil." He sat down in the chair she had just left, by the fire, warming his hands in its glow.

"It's a cold..."

"...night, yes. You know, you only had to ask me about holy ground, there really was no need to play Harper. Though it was very nicely played, I must say." She's remembered something, he thought, her manner was stilted. She was again keeping her distance. Her heartbeat was giving her away, it was too fast.

"In answer to your question, vampires are unable to enter or set foot in holy places. There are always exceptions to any rule...Some older ones can push that rule a little. It will cause them pain, and be unpleasant but..." The polite warning was there. There was a flicker in her eyes but it went as quickly as it appeared. "A useful sanctuary, but not a permanent one. Churches are very draughty, you could catch your death of cold, and the vampires would still be waiting outside for you to come out." She didn't react at all, which was odd. He tried a more direct approach.

"Oh, and if you are thinking of seducing your way out of this rose-covered gaol with Harper, I'm changing your watchers. Ramsey will pick more..."

"How dare you!" The vehemence surprised him. "I don't want him anywhere near this cottage." She'd bit, alright. There was the fire he wanted to see, the anger, but there was hurt in those eyes. He had touched a very raw nerve there and got a flash of her memories of her cell in Edinburgh as a reward. She shut down fast, but not fast enough, she was a quick learner though.

"That was a low blow, Wyndam." She was trying to cover her hurt, but it was there all the same.

"Yes it was. I'm sorry. The watchers are there for your protection, for a reason. These are troubled times Jenny, it wouldn't be wise to push those boundaries too far," he was watching her carefully. Trust was a fragile thing, easily lost, and she had begun to trust him until tonight.

"You've remembered something, haven't you?" She nodded. "Care to tell me what..."

She shook her head. "Not...not yet. Would you like some of that broth? I haven't eaten yet."

He let her busy herself with the soup, watching her all the while. She handed him a bowl and sat down at the other side of the fire with her own bowl. Neither spoke. The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room. She spoke first.

"I don't want Ramsey anywhere near us. He scared Isobel the other night, she's still upset. Whatever you are up to, I want to keep things as normal as possible for her."

"Perfectly understandable. I will pull him back and make him remember his place." She stole a glance at him.

"How old are you?" He blinked at her but he answered her.

"Six hundred give or take a year or two." She couldn't hide her amazement.

"How could you survive without..."

"Going insane?" She nodded at him mutely.

"How is that possible...all that time..."

He looked away from her into the fire.

"It's possible. I was turned...I killed...I fed...fifty years had gone by, a hundred..."

"Then you were made, turned, in the Dark Times?" Her curiosity was making her bolder.

"What do you know about the Dark Times?" He was sharp with her.

She pulled back a little in her chair. "My grandmother told me that most vampires died out then."

"She was mistaken. We lost...a sizeable number, but we weren't wiped out. We survived." His eyes were now scorching into her, but she wouldn't look away.

"She also told me that my...kind suffered as well in...those days." She was pushing him now, she knew.

"Yes, they did. All sides suffered. Seers were hunted. That's why you all went to ground, at least the sensible ones did, the few who were left."

A log fell in the fire, sending out sparks. It broke the spell.

It was Wyndam who spoke first. "Now are you ready for another little test?" A sly smile was on his face. He'd been the one to change the subject, Jenny noted.

"The bag, I take it?" He nodded. She sighed. "I'll get the brandy, you get the candle."

It was the same routine as the previous evening. Look into the candle flame. Concentrate. Breathe. Close your eyes. She heard him lay some things down on the table in front of her.

"And...Open your eyes." There was a gleeful expression on Wyndam's face when she opened her eyes. "Now, three objects, one-in-three chance. Tell me what you can see." She looked at him dubiously.

"Indulge me."

He was enjoying himself, she could tell. She sighed again, and looked down at the objects. He'd brought her three objects; one was a pistol, one a piece of rope, the other a small dagger. The dagger looked old; strips of leather bound its handle. The rope looked clean and unused. The pistol, she didn't recognise its type. He saw her hesitance and remarked, "It's a new kind of pistol, a flintlock pistol. You do this, then you do that…" he loaded it then he pointed it away from the table. He saw the startled look on Jenny's face and reluctantly put it down on the table.

"I like new things, what can I say?"

She closed her eyes again, breathing in and out, and then she opened them and concentrated on the objects.

"You can touch them if you wish."

She didn't want to touch any of them. She looked at each in turn, and then she focused on the rope. She felt drawn to it somehow, she blinked and she could see blood on it. She knew it wasn't physically there, but she could still see it, she could feel the pain it had caused. She didn't want to touch it, but her hands were drawn to it. She could feel it round her neck, and then she saw the image of a woman struggling, and the face of a man behind the woman. She cried out, reached for the rope and threw it into the fire. She was fighting for her breath when she heard Wyndam's voice.

"Look at me. Breathe. They can't harm you, well they can in someone else's hands, obviously, but they are just objects." He lifted the pistol and put it back in the saddlebag, and then he turned to the dagger.

"I've had this dagger since before I was made. In fact, my father gave it to me when I was a boy. It's never been used to kill anything more than a deer. The pistol has never been fired in anger. You chose well, Jenny."

She was looking at him with disbelief. "Tell me that man was caught," she was still disturbed by what she had seen.

"Oh yes. It was his wife he killed, her family caught up with him. Let's just say an eye for an eye was very much applied." He looked at her with a wide smile. "I'd say that calls for a drink, wouldn't you?"

_Two weapons she could have used on him and she'd failed to make an attempt, she'd been too curious to…_

She smiled. "They wouldn't work on you, would they?" Her tone was playful. She said it out loud before she realised that he'd never spoken the words, he had somehow put that thought straight into her head. She was afraid to look at him.

"The little blocks are staring to melt away, aren't they Jenny?" Wyndam was appraising her closely. She still wouldn't look at him. He waited for her to break first. She didn't want to admit it to herself.

"You met my grandmother didn't you?" She looked up at him, those sad grey eyes met his blue eyes, and she knew it was true.

He didn't answer her; he was waiting for her next question.

"I was offered up wasn't I?"

"Yes." The first chink of ice pierced her heart.

"When?"

"Before you were born." The second chink went deeper.

Those blue eyes were reaching straight into her soul.

"I've been looking for you for a very long time Jenny." The third cut through her.

"You might want to sit down. This is going to be a long night."

**1583 – Chester, The Rows**

He was sat at the back of the tavern in the darkest corner, his favoured seat. He had fed well that night. He'd been on the Roodee at the races for most of the afternoon, winning more than he lost. Then of course there were the drunken crowds making their way back to their homes. Both perfect hunting grounds for a vampire, especially a skilful one. He was still enjoying the sensation of the blood when he spotted her. He knew her for what she was the minute she walked in. She was tall, red-haired, with slight touches of grey at the sides. She must have been around fifty, the traces of her looks were still there, she would have been quite something in her day, he thought. She was looking for someone. She lowered her hood and turned to look directly at him. There was a flash of green eyes. He smiled at her, raising his tankard. One outsider to another. The answering smile was brief. She made her way through the crowd to his table. She spoke in a low voice:

"You are Edgar Wyndam?"

"Madam." He smiled darkly.

"Yes, cold blue eyes. Old eyes. It is you." She stood her ground.

"And you are?"

"Lilian Ross." Ah, one of the few real seers left, and a famed one at that. Tonight was proving to be an interesting one, he thought.

"Your reputation precedes you, madam." He tilted his head slightly in honour.

"As does yours, sir." She smiled that curt smile again.

"Are you flirting with me madam? That's a deadly game at the best of times."

"Heaven forbid," she smiled coolly, "It was a particularly deadly game for that pretty little blonde you left in Pepper Street."

The vampire malice flashed across his face. That innate self-preservation that any vampire who wanted to survive had to possess rose. His glare would have frozen many, but she had obviously steeled herself for this meeting.

"Perhaps I should be having this conversation with Mr Reade. I believe he is normally to be found in York?"

"You are very well informed, madam. If a little unwise. The warning was clear in his tone.

"Mr Wyndam, may I?" She was now politeness itself.

"Please." He gestured to the seat opposite. Lilian Ross, the great Seer of Applecross, but he could see the fire was fading from her eyes, her powers were diminishing at last. That would be news to the others, not that he would tell them. She had come a very long way to find him after all.

"What can I do for you madam?" He signalled for another tankard to be brought to the table.

"I have a proposition to put to you." Her fingers traced the surface of the table. "I understand that you are the one...I have someone who may be of interest to you. _Will_ be of interest to you. I take it the practice of "offering up" still exists?" She _had _surprised him.

"Of course," he replied, his eyes searching out the room, one could never be too careful when discussing vampire politics.

"I will be frank, Mr Wyndam. My daughter is an empty-headed fool who married for love."

"As opposed to your family's usual practice of make a powerful match and hide behind your walls, secure in the knowledge that we can't touch you? Yes, we have long memories, madam. We choose not to go after you, that may change. Your family chose poorly and paid for it. Who are you offering us?" His patience was running out, but he was intrigued by her manner.

She continued as though she hadn't heard him. "She may be a fool, but the child she is carrying will not be. She is carrying a girl." He looked at her sceptically. She smiled back sweetly.

"Come Mr Wyndam, we have been around for a very long time too. That child will be the last of our line. The most powerful seer we will ever produce. All the signs are there."

He laughed at her. "Superstition! Unborn and a weapon already! Really madam! I was told you had a brain." Her temper flared at that.

"Do not mock me, sir. I know your kind plan for the future. So do we." She bit her tongue. "I am asking...you...for your protection for the child." _Oh __that __had __cost __her __to __say __that , __he __thought._

"You know what that will entail?"

She nodded.

"You do not get to choose what happens to her, that is our decision, **_my_** decision?"

"Yes." She nodded again. There was no emotion in her voice or on her face.

He was incredulous at her.

"You're seriously offering up your granddaughter to us? You want to survive that much that you'd give us...That's breathtaking cruelty...Are you sure you weren't one of us in a previous life?"

"The times are changing, sir. The sands are shifting. We all come to an end Mr Wyndam. Even you..."

**The Cottage – 1611**

The fire was dying. Wyndam stoked it and added another log. Jenny sat, hollow, in her chair. He had told her the bare bones of the meeting, leaving out what he had said to her grandmother about her motives.

"Your grandmother was trying to protect you, protect her line. She caught my attention, but I'm ashamed to say I was a little blood drunk at the time, and didn't take her too seriously at first. She told me I would meet you once when you were young and a second time when you were older. She told me a prophecy, "If you look for her, you will never find her. She will find you."

Jenny's eyes flickered at that. He continued.

"And so you did, for which I am very grateful. You and your daughter helped me, I won't forget that." He paused to drink his glass, waiting for Jenny's reaction.

"I remembered 'If you look for her..' They were arguing..." He was scanning her face for any signs of untruth, but none was there. He would push further in a moment, but for now he let it go.

"Your grandmother was risking a great deal with that meeting. Your blood is...useful to my kind." Jenny's wrist chose that moment to start itching. She went to scratch it then stopped herself, knowing that he was watching. She had worked that one out for herself, he had healed too quickly, supernatural or not.

"Strictly speaking, I should have informed the others but...she intrigued me. Like most vampires, I believe in fate and destiny. We can afford to wait and see. We have time on our side. Your kind doesn't."

The light was darkening in the cottage. Wyndam turned to his left, pulled fresh candles out of the cupboard by the fire, he lit them from the fire, and replaced the burnt out candles around the room. He really seems at home here, that was the strange thing, she thought. He smiled at her then sat back down. He picked up his glass. He continued.

"She was drawing my attention to you to ask for our...protection. There were 'difficulties' among my kind at the time. I believed it wiser not to pass on the information. And safer for you not to act on it."

She was thoughtful. "You turned her down, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I told her I would keep in touch. That I was interested, certainly, but I wanted to wait. I contacted her, not long before your mother...was arrested, to remind her that I had not forgotten about you. I'm guessing your mother didn't take the news well." That was the memory that had come back, she couldn't hide that one from him, what use was there in concealing it now?

"I didn't know who you were in Edinburgh, at the burnings. You were just a terrified child. When I found out who you were, I looked for you; I couldn't find you or Lilian. She was very careful to cover her tracks. Your father was a drunken cur, who knew nothing about your whereabouts, and your brother was abroad, probably being _pious_." She smiled a little cruel smile herself at that.

"To be honest, after that, I forgot all about you. And then I heard about a young woman being held in Edinburgh, on a charge of witchcraft, whose own mother had been executed as one of the witches of North Berwick. That most _definitely _caught my attention. I made the same journey up to Edinburgh I had made all those years before, to find you had done a disappearing act again. You appear to be very good at that," he raised his glass to her.

"Not good enough, though?" She was smiling that sad, sweet smile again.

He looked at her attentively. Considering her world had just been pulled out from under her, she was doing quite well. She had yet to ask the obvious question. He laid his glass down.

"Now," he leant forward, eyeing her speculatively, "what did you remember?" He had that searching gaze fixed on her. She took a deep breath and began.

"I was in my parents' house in Leith. It was a dreich day so I sneaked back in. I wasn't meant to be there. My mother and grandmother were in the parlour. They were arguing, it was...vicious..."

She had never seen her mother so angry. She was furious about something.

"What the hell have you done? I saw the letter...when was this arranged?" She didn't hear her grandmother's response. She heard her mother shout; "She is my daughter, not yours. You have brought them down on us again! They didn't know about Jenny or me for that matter. You had no right."

Then she heard Lilian Ross' strident voice, "I had every right. She's the last, you know that. This way she will survive, she's strong enough. You married a weak fool. Love? That man will see you to your grave all right. 'Til death do you part?"

Her mother replied; "You're letting her walk blindly into their tender clutches. You think a prophecy will protect her? I'm surprised he isn't at the door already. I may as well pack her bag now, she won't need a crucifix for protection, she'll need to spend the rest of her days in St Giles' to be safe."

Lilian was growing weary of arguing with her daughter. "They won't do anything until she's older anyway. They'll want to see what they're getting."

Her mother rounded on her for that. "Like any good buyer! You as good as sold her to them! She is your own flesh and blood! I should kill you where you stand," she was spitting the words at her. "You are not getting your claws into her, I'll take her away."

"Oh really? Where, pray?" enquired Lilian, arrogantly. "You think there are no vampires in France or Italy? He turned me down..."

Her mother laughed. "For now. You put the idea in his head; you think he won't come after her? They are not getting their hands on Jenny!"

Lilian's tone changed. "He's an Old One. I chose him carefully."

"Oh yes Mother, you would go for the power wouldn't you? If they don't choose her. They will use her and her powers until she has nothing left. They will _destroy_ her. At best she'll be a meal to them, at worst...how could you do that to her? There's not a bad bone in that child's body, she has a gentle soul..."

Lilian raised her voice again. "You'd rather the wolves' got hold of her, would you?"

The fury was rising in her mother. "The wolves are _contained_. You think _vampires_ can be trusted? Ha! You really are losing your touch Mother!"

Lilian's voice had turned desperate. "We have to choose a side. Do you really want to know your future Elspeth? Do you?"

Jenny had pushed the door open, just a touch. Her mother swung round at the sound of the creak. "Little ears..."

Lilian turned, strode up to the door, her face set in stone, and slammed it shut in Jenny's face.

Wyndam's voice broke in softly; "There's something else, isn't there?" She didn't realise that she had slipped into a trance.

Her mother Elspeth was saying to her, "Listen to me sweetheart, its just a little drop, it won't hurt." She cut lightly into Jenny's left hand with a silver knife. "Look at me. I love you and I'm going to protect you. You have to forget what you've seen, what you've heard. You will remember this when you are older, when the time is right. I made the choices I made, but I won't let you go to them unprotected. And do not tell your grandmother, this is our secret. I can't see that far ahead, no one is meant to. You can only trust anyone so much, remember that. If you get even a hint of danger, run, you hear me, run. I don't know what he'll do, when he finds you, I just hope you have a choice..."

Wyndam's hand was on her face, she hadn't even seen him move. He was looking straight into her eyes, into her soul.

"Yes, a blood incantation. I thought so. She hid you well, Jenny. Your mother knew what she was doing. She must have loved you very much." He pulled back from her and she felt the familiar release.

"Offering up"...what did...does it mean for me? For Isobel?" Her voice was shaking. His back was to her, he was gazing into the depths of the fire.

"It's a practice like giving up your son to the priesthood, or your daughter to a nunnery. It can mean the obvious..." _Being __turned __into __one __of __them_, she thought.

"...it can be entering our service, Underwood for example; his family have been serving me for many years, or using certain abilities that we find useful." He turned to face her.

"It has been a very long night, Jenny. We both have a great deal to think over. Goodnight." He lifted the saddlebag and made for the front door.

"What was to happen to me?"

He stopped at the door. "The deal was not agreed."

He opened the door, and closed it quietly behind him.

"Wasn't it?" she said softly to herself, her eyes flashing like the flames of the fire.


	8. Chapter 8

THE SEER

Chapter Eight

Jenny was still sat at the long burnt-out fire the next morning. He had given her three choices as to what "offering up" meant for her, none of which sounded very appealing. The first, to be 'turned', what was it her mother had said? That she had a 'gentle soul'. She couldn't see vampires wanting one of those amongst them, she got the feeling they didn't have much time for mercy. To live for so long, to see so much, wouldn't that harden a...person, to see so much pain and loss over the years, and be the cause of…Six hundred years…how often did he need to feed…how many souls…Stop it Jenny, she told herself, He's let you live so far, and every time he leaves here and Isobel and you are alive…that's all you can hope for…Oh God, did they turn children? Her head turned towards Isobel's door. All he had to do was threaten Isobel, and he knew she would do whatever he wanted, to keep her safe. And he hadn't. It didn't make sense. He was waiting for something. For what she had no answer. He was keeping her in the cottage for a reason. She knew 'kid gloves' when she saw them, and she had been well treated so far. He could grab the pair of them and take them God knows where, no one would raise a finger to stop him, to help her, and he hadn't. All he had to do was pass her name and whereabouts on to the authorities back in Edinburgh, she had no idea if there was a warrant out for her, and she wasn't arrogant enough to assume she was safe, even after all these years, then everything really would go to hell…

He seemed to know more about her own past than she did. What had her grandmother been thinking when she'd gone into that tavern? Had she been thinking of her own daughter Elspeth at all, let alone her unborn child, or had it simply been survival at all costs? Had Lilian seen something in the future? Handing her over like a prize…to a vampire…not knowing what he would do…she would never do that to Isobel, no matter how desperate she was. Her grandmother had plenty of time to tell her about the 'deal' and what it could mean for her, and she had not opened her mouth. Lilian Ross waited until she was on her deathbed before uttering a word about it, and even then seemed to convince herself she was right. All the times she had refused to listen to Jenny when she asked about seeing strange things, feeling the lost souls pass by her, growing up being told;

"No, there's nothing there. Close your eyes, child."

Perhaps she was being too hard on her, she had lost her daughter on that terrible day in Edinburgh, and she had finally opened up a little in the years before she died, handing over some of her own knowledge to Jenny. But to not warn her about her own future, when she had a hand in it herself, that was unforgivable in Jenny's mind.

The second choice; to enter their service. She couldn't see what she could offer them. Healing skills? She didn't think they would often need those particular skills, they would normally be too busy causing the injuries in the first place. Then again, she had healed Wyndam, though that had been her blood…"A very old family, very strong blood…" If seers were hunted in the past, was it the vampires, or was it humanity that had been responsible for their almost complete demise? Yet Wyndam had encouraged her healing studies…The other obvious…he hasn't made a move…yet. Maybe he has a 'fallen woman' thing, who knows? But then he had said that would be a waste…

What was he after? It had to be the third choice; her abilities. He was clearly encouraging her to use them, and he'd given her a way of stopping the pain the spirits caused her. Her grandmother never even thought to teach her how to shut them out, or how to commune with them. Jenny had learnt the hard way not to go near the dark souls if she could help it, they could inflict such pain on her, she could feel the hate pouring out of some of them, that they were dead and she was alive. She had never asked for her abilities, she'd known she was 'different' when she was about three. She'd asked her mother why there was a strange man standing beside her in the parlour. Elspeth had looked at her with a sad smile, and said,

"Oh lass…don't be afraid…they can't hurt you…I won't let them. Sometimes you need to help them along…"

She turned, and whispered words Jenny hadn't understood. The figure disappeared in front of her eyes; she remembered seeing a door, and a light, through the fingers she held to her eyes, not believing what she was seeing.

"I'll teach you, but not yet. You're my wee one Jenny," she had tipped Jenny's chin up, "you're _so_ special," Elspeth laughed, "but don't tell your brother, he'll only get jealous!"

Robert had been five years older, a stranger even then. He'd been abroad with some friend of her father's when their mother died. She could count on one hand the times she had seen him since. He had not given her up though, when he had the chance, she gave him that. Though how much of that was the mortal shame of having a sister accused of witchcraft or brotherly feeling she wasn't sure. Her mother was a memory of roses and ashes to her now. She had been the powerful one, not her.

For the first time in her life she realised how much she had been used all her life, both her grandmother and her father had used her for their own ends, a pawn to be used and thrown over when it no longer suited their purposes. At least her mother…had loved her…Whatever Elspeth had done, whatever she may or may not have been, she had protected her daughter. Until she had been glaikit enough to drag a dark-haired stranger into her cottage…So many years of being careful, and hiding, and she had thrown it away with an act of mercy…a typically 'human' act. Wyndam had practically told her she had escaped him twice before, she got the impression he would not let her get away again. And that rose-covered gaol could be made to turn very cold if he so chose…Oh woman, she thought, you are trying to outwit someone who has been around for over six hundred years…and he's no fool…How many ghosts had he caused to appear in all those years? How many doors? Had it always been doors that appeared? What about the corridors? There was so much she knew so little about, so much she wanted to learn about what she could do and the world out there, he had opened that door and she didn't want to go back, and she knew that was dangerous. It was by being careful, not catching anyone's eye, knowing when to hold your tongue and turn the other cheek, that was how she had survived, not by standing out, yet something had stopped Wyndam from killing her, he had seen something in her and that frightened her. What choice did she have but to wait and see what he wanted from her, and to find a way to keep Isobel safe. He was right about one thing, Isobel had no abilities beyond being a 'normal' child, that she was sure about, something should have shown itself by now, and for that she was thankful. At least she might have an ordinary childhood, if Wyndam would let her have one…There had to be a way to make a deal with him…but then she was certain he had made that agreement with her grandmother. He'd been interested, he'd said as much…and he had come looking for her twice in Edinburgh…He let Lilian Ross leave that tavern in Chester, he could have followed her and killed her there and then for her 'strong blood', but he let her walk away…and he kept Jenny's existence a secret, else why had no vampires come knocking on her parents door? There had to be vampires in Edinburgh, she wondered slyly for a moment who they were, if any of them had grieved for the vampire who perished that day…Did vampires know grief? Oh enough Jenny, you're doing it again, she thought. She had to keep her wits about her. She would be no use to Isobel otherwise, or to Wyndam for that matter…and she had the distinct feeling that would be the only way for Isobel to survive, if Jenny's abilities were useful, if she was strong enough…

"Morning Mum," Isobel yawned sleepily as she clambered into the chair opposite Jenny. She reached out for her mother.

"Oh you're cold. Why is the fire out?"

"Because your 'sleepyhead' mother fell asleep in front of it again, that's why! Put another log on, I'll get it lit."

The village was too quiet a few days later when she took Isobel to see her little friend Ruth again. The faces of the villagers were clouded over, their eyes were heavy. It had to be the wee boy, thought Jenny. She had seen something under his skin, something not fitting quite right, a whisper in his heart, when he had finally been born. He had been a terrible colour too, almost blue. She had rubbed at his chest and he had cried such a weak cry that she had known it wouldn't be long. Ruth's mother nodded towards the churchyard.

"That'll be them on their way back soon. Such a shame. Should never have to bury your own child…" Jenny looked at her sharply, Isobel was standing right in front of the woman, and her eyes were wide open taking everything in.

"Still, she's young. They'll have another on the way before they know it. Come on Isobel, Ruth wants to show you something…"

The woman turned away before Jenny could say anything, and when she turned back towards the church, the baby's parents were already at the lych-gate, his young mother's eyes were haunted, and her husband was holding her up by her shoulders. They came towards Jenny, who bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. When she looked up, the mother was looking at her with something close to loathing. It startled Jenny, and the woman's husband noticed it. His wife was looking at Isobel now, who was sitting quietly with Ruth on her doorstep.

"Why…?" The woman's look was strange, and Isobel was now looking back up at her, her sweet face looking into the woman's grief-stricken face. The woman spoke again.

"Why not…_her?_ Why my…?" Her husband shook her.

"Enough. It wasn't her fault…she did everything she could. I'm sorry," he shrugged his shoulders, "she's not been…right…since. The Reverend explained it to her, how it was God's will to take him up, he was too poorly. Stop it sweetheart…" He pulled his wife away, she was still muttering to herself. Jenny spotted Burnett the factor standing by the lych-gate.

"Take no notice of her. You'll have done your best."

"She's grieving. It's natural," said Jenny, but the woman's hatred had surprised her, and her reaction to Isobel troubled her.

"My wife would enjoy a visit from the little one here; she hasn't seen her for a while. It would cheer her up." He smiled at Isobel, who was standing by her mother now.

"Bye Ruth," she yelled to her friend, who looked sulkily at her. Jenny smiled; her daughter could be very resilient when she had to be.

"Well I think you have a visitor here, Mr Burnett. Can I come too Isobel?" Her daughter looked up at her for a long second.

"I suppose." Jenny laughed; at least she didn't seem to be worried about the events of the last two weeks. Mrs Burnett looked a little better to Jenny, but she told her husband to increase how often he gave her the tincture she'd prepared, if the pain got worse. They stayed far longer than they should have; the sky was darkening when they got back to the cottage. Jenny knew without looking that a vampire was watching them. How, she had no idea, maybe those 'little blocks' that Wyndam mentioned had indeed melted away, but she knew one was there. She sent Isobel to tidy the rooms, and turned back warily, her eyes scanning the trees beyond the garden wall. It was the blond-haired vampire, Harper. At least it wasn't Ramsey, she thought. She stepped back inside to get some chicken from the pot she'd left on the fire earlier, and stepped out to see him. Harper was moving from side to side, blowing on his hands.

"Good evening Mr Harper." He looked at her slightly startled; she was walking straight towards him.

"Good evening Miss"

"We're having some chicken tonight, Mr Harper. If I'm to be watched, I'll not have it said I don't keep my gaolers well-fed. There you go." He smiled at her.

"Thank you. I shouldn't…Mr Wyndam…"

"I take it Mr Wyndam would be unhappy if I am unhappy, so if I am happy to feed you some proper food, he should be happy too. Or have I got that backwards Mr Harper?" He laughed.

"There's a certain…logic to your reasoning Miss, but I will have to tell him about speaking with you."

"Of course, Mr Harper. You are the only one I do feed. I haven't seen Mr Ramsey about," she picked up a fallen branch and started to twirl it through the rust-brown leaves on the ground.

And you won't, thought Harper. Ramsey was sporting a gash and a bruise on his left cheek, strangely similar to the ring Wyndam wore on his right hand; and a much wounded pride. That was his one warning, Ramsey would not get another. Jenny smiled to herself, then realised that was the second time she'd been able to hear what someone else was thinking, the last had been Wyndam. Harper hadn't noticed her reaction.

"No Miss. Mr Wyndam has him doing…other things."

"Goodnight, Mr Harper." She turned to go back inside. Harper took a deep breath, as though he was plucking up courage. He said quietly;

"Don't run Miss…" She stopped dead in her tracks, and turned to face him. Harper stepped forward.

"I…I don't know why he's…he has his reasons…" He was now watching her carefully, she was right to be wary of him, but she wasn't like most humans…and surely Wyndam wouldn't mind him warning her to stay right here…

"Just don't try to run again, Miss…" The woman was staring at him with a wakening fear in her eyes, but she looking straight at him.

"He'll never let me go, will he?" She whispered it. Harper looked away first.

"Isobel?" She persisted. Harper looked back at her.

"I don't know…This is him being…nice. I think if he wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

"Was he the one…was he the one who made you?" Harper looked at her keenly, searching for a sign of her playing him again, but there was only a kind pair of eyes. No one ever asked him about…the others didn't know who had made him; he was an orphan vampire.

"No…no…he wasn't the one. He took me on…after…he taught me…" he was thinking of Bec, lying there…Wyndam had been…kind to him after…they could have fed from her for a little while after…and they hadn't. Wyndam had made sure she was left alone…

Jenny reached out automatically for Harper's hand when she saw the pain cut across his face, but the vampire in him reacted, his eyes flashed black, and his fangs appeared. He hissed at her to get away from him, to get back.

"Oh God. He trusted me…" He pulled back from her.

"It's alright. It was my fault…I shouldn't have…I'll tell him…" her voice was soothing; she was trying to calm him.

"There are only three of us watching you," Harper was trying to regain control, "There are more of us out there, but we are the only ones he trusts to watch you. Why, I don't know…I know that he doesn't want you harmed in any way…"

He was forcing his eyes back to their normal colour; the woman was backing away from him, just like Bec had…

"I'm sorry…" he said.

"No…" Jenny was shrinking back from him.

"No…Mr Harper…James…I'm the one who…"

"It was…you surprised me…" Harper was back in control; his breathing was starting to slow. "I'm not that old, I was…made fourteen, fifteen years ago. Please just go back inside." She was back by the front door, shaking, but still watching him.

"Mr Harper, you tell him I said it was my fault, you were not to blame…I won't run, but Isobel is not a part of this, whatever he is…doing…and if he is serious about our being under his protection, he will not remove the one watcher I do trust. I accept his protection, God help me if I'm making a mistake. I accept."

The second she said "I accept", there was a bolt of lightning, followed closely by a crack of thunder. Pure coincidence, she told herself. A storm had been threatening since the morning; she was just being daft again. And if that was a sign from the other world, it was a little too late. She trusted Harper, at least as much as she should trust any vampire. His aura was greyish, if anything it lacked colour, there was just a little red at the centre. Jenny wasn't sure whether it was because he was a younger vampire than Wyndam, or whether it was the kind of person he had been in life, before he was turned. She wondered if the darkness changed every part of a vampire, leaving only a shell with a human face…whether the humanity survived intact, somewhere, inside…She was unsure which would be worse, for them to feel no compassion for their victims, or to feel that hunger, that rage, burn inside them constantly, and the consequences that followed. They were killers; she had to remember that, for both their sakes.

"Goodnight, Mr Harper," she said, closing the door.

He nodded at her sadly, and then turned back to the shelter of the trees. He was not looking forward to reporting their exchange back to Wyndam, but he was sure he had done the right thing. The woman had agreed to Wyndam's protection, and she had even tried to take the blame for Harper's 'lapse'. It was his own fault, he hadn't fed before coming on watch, and then she had touched his hand, Wyndam would laugh at that alright.

"The vampire nature will always protect itself, Harper, whenever a hint of threat, or humanity surfaces…it gets better as you grow older, and stronger, but it is different for everyone…" he remembered him telling him that, not long after Harper had been turned. Wyndam had said;

"Most go one of three ways. They bury themselves in the blood, losing all compassion over the years, until they become hollow inside; others find ways of keeping the two natures together, however difficult that may be; and the third…they go mad eventually. All the blood, all the souls, gets to them…" Wyndam had sighed, remembering old friends, old memories…

"And you, sir? Which of the three…" Wyndam had smiled at him.

"Oh I'm something different again, Harper…" and he had left it at that.

Harper wondered if Wyndam would end him this time, and for the first time in years he found himself not wanting it to happen, for it to finally end…maybe he was finally accepting his fate…

That night Jenny fell into a deep sleep, the kind she both needed, and feared, as that was when the nightmares crept in. The little things you could wish away with the light, but when you closed your eyes…She was dreaming of Edinburgh again. She was a child being pulled through the cobbled streets by her father. It was just after they'd burnt her mother, the crowd was jostling for the best position to see the next burning, and it had to be not long after Wyndam had pulled her back from the flames. Her father's face was set grim, as he dragged her past the Kirk, and past his favourite inn…Then she was in her parents' house, the servants were whispering…

"What about the bairn? Can't leave her with him, the drouth is on him, he'll be calling for his whisky…What'll become of her?" She felt herself being literally thrown, sobbing, into a corner by her father, who stood over her, glowering down.

"That is what will happen to you…No more…don't look at me like that…you have her eyes…stop it…Close your eyes, or I will close them for you." The image faded, then she heard Wyndam's voice, soft and low, as though he was right beside her, saying the same thing,

"Close your eyes."

She woke with a start, sure he was in the same room, but there was no one there. That memory though, there was something more there…Jenny pulled the blanket round herself and tip-toed into the kitchen. The fire was low but it didn't take her long to get the flames going. She slipped easily into a trance, the images growing clearer, and sharper than ever. She was eyeing her father through the keyhole. He was slumped in his chair, his head on the table, a whisky bottle sat, with an overturned glass beside it. She was carrying a cup of water for him, she wanted to say sorry, that she was sorry she had cried out for her mother, that she was sorry her arm hurt, she wanted to make it better somehow. She put the cup down, and touched his shoulder gently to wake him. He raised his head slowly, he had trouble focusing on her, and the drink had him still.

"I had no choice Jenny…it was her or me, I had to…no other way…she was a witch…she was…" he swung his hand out, the bottle smashed to the floor.

"Clumsy girl!" her father yelled at her.

She looked at him and thought; "I hate you…Why her and not you? She never hurt anyone…" She looked hard at her father, and thought; "Pain…I wish you pain…"

He turned towards the table, and then he put his hand to his head.

"Stop it…these are her tricks…stop it! Ow!" He rose unsteadily to his feet, and raised his other hand as though he would strike her across the face.

"Don't you _dare!"_ Lilian Ross stood at the door, her hair and dress dishevelled.

"Jenny, get your things." She just looked at her grandmother in astonishment. Lilian was tapping her feet. "What are you waiting for, child? Hurry…and fetch your mother's things too…Mary, help her." She could hear Lilian's stern voice from upstairs.

"You did this, you spineless…from now on she doesn't exist, do you understand? You do not have a daughter. As long as I am breathing, you will not harm her, I'll send you to hell myself. Do you understand me? In fact…" she'd broken off as Jenny reappeared with her mother's maid. Mary whispered into Lilian's ear, and she turned on her son-in-law in fury.

"Where are her things? Gone to pay your debts, or to clothe your next mistress?" The maid scuttled out, leaving Jenny to watch a very one-sided battle.

"Look at her arm; you didn't get the burn dressed? You fool…Harm Jenny and it won't just be me who'll send you to Hell. She was chosen, do you know what that means? They'll come for her, and if one hair on her head is harmed…aye, look feart…" her father was looking at Lilian in horror, his eyes wide. Her grandmother was looking at the clock over the fireplace.

"I warned her that you were a weak fool. She paid a heavy price for it, you were a poor bargain. Jenny, you will not be coming back here." Her grandmother kept looking at the clock. "Hurry child…" Lilian crossed to Jenny's father and whispered, "I don't know what Elspeth did, she did something but I don't know…they will be coming for her…"

Jenny slipped out of the trance quickly. The realisation was there, all too clear. Lilian had known a vampire had been killed, seen the danger…a vampire was dead…and he was in Edinburgh…Maybe her grandmother had developed a conscience, Jenny didn't know. After her mother's death they had travelled around, every so often Jenny would get bad dreams, and Lilian would pack everything up and they would move on. Jenny was wondering now about the nature of those dreams…had they been a warning? They had spent a few years wandering, before her grandmother had taken her back to Applecross. Just how far had Wyndam pursued her?

The next morning, in an anonymous manor house, Wyndam stood quietly, his back to the autumn sun glinting through the lead-beaded window. The house was one of several in the North, all owned by 'absentee' landlords, some of whom were now among their ranks, others were long dead and gone. Each house would be opened up when needed, people would come and go, then the house would be left for years, until memories faded, generations passed by, unaware of 'their' existence. It was going better than Harper had thought it would. Wyndam smiled benignly when Harper told him what had happened, the indulgent smile widening even more when he told him that Jenny had finally accepted his protection.

"I'm sorry sir…" Harper was hesitant. Wyndam's eyes were shining.

"What for, Harper? You got her to accept the inevitable, finally. My protection is in her best interests…she will see that eventually. She won't run, she knows I'll find her wherever she goes. Though I would feed before you go back on watch next time, I would hate for any unpleasantness…" the cold look was enough. Harper nodded, nervously.

"She trusts you as her watcher, Harper. Do not disappoint me." Wyndam's tone was final.

"Um, Sir?" Wyndam looked up at him.

"She's very human, sir." Wyndam looked out of the window, lost in thought for a moment. The sunlight was very bright...It was nearly All Souls' Day…He turned his attention back to the waiting Harper.

"Yes she is." _But not quite_, thought Wyndam.

"Will you let her go sir?"

Wyndam just smiled.

"No, Harper…I won't let her go."


	9. Chapter 9

**And we are beginning with a flashback...though I'm not sure you can have a flashback when a story is already set in the past...but here we are! Comments are welcome, and suggestions are occasionally acted upon, certain parts of this story are set in stone, others are not...**

**Chapter Nine**

**Flodden Field – 1513**

How many lay dead? The humans were putting it at between 5,000 and 10,000 Scots, and only 1,500 English. The mist would be clearing at any moment. The vampires had come from all over for this battle, drawn to the heat of war. The Scottish King, which one was it now, James IV, had invaded England to honour the Auld Alliance with France. That had been a fatal mistake. And giving Henry a month's notice, that really had been the final nail in the Scottish King's coffin. _The promise of all that blood..._They had even given the English the chance to turn their forces around...it was as though the Scots were welcoming their own destruction...

Humanity never learnt, thought Wyndam. It always turned on itself, or on what it didn't understand. Perfect for his kind, of course. They had waited with dark hunger in their eyes, as the humans smashed bone and shed blood. Such a waste, all that spilt blood seeping away into the soil. The 'flower' of the Scots nobility lay dying on the field. They had led their troops from the front, brave but foolhardy, and paid the ultimate price. It reminded him of Hastings, that old wound. Then it had been Saxon England's nobility strewn across a bloody field, a generation wiped out. Now it was the Scots' turn, the tide of war ebbing and flowing as it always did. There couldn't be a Scottish noble family that didn't have someone lying dead on the field or making a sad retreat. And their King dead too.

_So much blood..._He never thought he would see the day when such a glut of blood would repulse him, but he'd had more than his fill today. He was remembering old battles, friends lost, enemies destroyed, and for once he was sick of the hunger and the horror. Fate had already cursed those lying on the battlefield, his kind needed to feed, surely this was a better way for those left, to be killed quickly, in most cases anyway, than left to die in agony of their war wounds. And few survivors noticed two little marks on the necks or the wrists of the slain...

He thought he'd seen Judith over on the hill, playing a dutiful 'widow', her favourite role, and an excellent way of persuading men to part with their blood. Andrew wouldn't be here, too close to home for him.

"For all I know, Edgar, I could be killing my great, great, God knows how many great, grandson..."

"You were a monk, Andrew..." Wyndam had scoffed.

"Well I never said I was a completely _devout_ one..."

Louisa was leading a band of female vampires over on the other side of the field. They wore deceitful tears as they feasted on the fallen, just as the vampires under him tore through the dying. Their kind had taken on their usual battlefield guise of worried relatives looking for loved ones, or members of the winning side finishing off the defeated. Which of course they were, he thought. To anyone looking a little closer though, the vampires acted like silent carrion crows, picking off the weak one by one. They weren't the only ones scavenging from the dying. Humans were already pulling armour off bodies, and gathering loose horses. The spoils of war. A sorrow of vampires, who had called them that? Which battle had that been? Hastings or Agincourt? He remembered killing the fool that had uttered the words...he had enjoyed that kill...that hypocrite had run whilst his men made their stand...hadn't run for long though...he smiled at the memory, the twist of cruelty showing itself. Everywhere he looked, vampires knelt, like unholy priests, preying on the dying.

"A little less obvious there, Johnson. You're glugging it down like cheap ale..."

A body twitched to the left of Wyndam's feet. A voice came out of it, as weak as water.

"Help...me..."

He looked down at the body. It couldn't last much longer; its wounds were too severe. He looked into the body's eyes. They were blue, like his own.

"You lost. You are dead." He went to walk away. The body spoke again.

"End...me..." He turned back to look at the body. The dying blue eyes met his.

"Leave this one," he yelled. He raised his sword, never taking his eyes from its face, the slight nod in its eyes, and then plunged the sword straight through the body's chest. He stood, wiping the blood from the sword's blade, and turned to gaze over the scene. Confused souls were appearing all around, trying to make sense of what had happened. One of the junior vampires ran towards him, carrying a message. The 'real' burial parties were coming down the field. One in particular caught his eye; a party of women carrying a small banner bearing the Scots' Royal coat of arms, walking beside them was an English herald. He walked towards Wyndam, keeping his eyes down.

"Sir...the...Earl...commands..."

"I do not answer to him..." Wyndam said it quietly. The herald nodded, nervously.

"Forgive me sir...requests that this party search for the Scots King..."

"He's not here. The King's away. He fell over there," Wyndam pointed to Louisa's side of the field, she heard his raised voice and took the hint, signalling her vampires to drift away in the mist.

"Besides, his body has already been taken; I heard it was on its way to Berwick..." The herald nodded again, but turned to look at the women behind him.

"The burial parties will be left alone," Wyndam again raised his voice; the vampires behind him pulled back, their eyes closing until the blackness left them, and waited for their next order.

"I would advise the ladies to start at the head of the field though." The herald smiled timidly.

"Thank you sir." He turned away. All the women did the same, apart from one, who kept walking towards Wyndam. The herald grabbed her arm, but she pulled it away, whispering something at him that made him jump back from her as though he'd been burned. She resumed her steady path towards Wyndam, who was growing more curious by the second at the woman's actions. She was dark-haired, around forty, wearing a bright blue gown under her black cloak. The eyes. It was always the eyes that gave seers away. It didn't matter what hue they were, the light that shone in them was always brilliant. He hadn't seen one in quite a while. She knew what they were and she still kept walking towards them. She only stopped six feet away from him, bowing her head slightly in respect.

"I warned them, sir. I knew it would happen. I told our Queen, she closed her ears. I…sent my son to warn our King…" He'd heard rumours that a supernatural warning had been given, hadn't believed them until now…

"I'm looking for my son, sir. He was wearing blue…" He looked at her for a long moment, before nodding curtly.

Quite why he was helping her, he wasn't sure. She was brave, walking into a vanguard of vampires, and he had learnt to respect seers in the past. And one never knew when a favour would be needed. The vampires with him were too young and inexperienced to recognise her instinctively; they just thought he was twisting the woman, all the better to kill her, when the time came. She picked her way nimbly through the slaughter, keeping pace with him, at his side. Miracle of miracles, among so many dead, they found him. He had not been fed on; he looked as though he had fallen instantly, the light in his brown eyes dull now. He lay next to the man Wyndam had ended; he didn't remember seeing him there.

"Why would you?" the woman whispered, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.

"Your price, sir?" She was waiting for him to name the usual price a seer paid, one way or another…

"I've already fed, Madam. You will have safe passage with his body…" Why he was saying that he had no idea. He should really kill her now…

"You probably should, sir…I have nothing left…" she was keeping her voice low, the other vampires had moved away from them, but she was still wary.

"Be careful what you wish for, Madam…" she was watching him apprehensively. "Any one of them would happily oblige you…" he pointed to the other vampires, now distant but still watching them closely. "When I say safe passage, I _mean_ safe passage. Johnson, help the woman with the body. Then find that herald."

Johnson looked stunned at his master's decision, but he caught a loose horse and lifted the man's body onto it. Wyndam walked alongside the woman. He stopped halfway.

"You will face no difficulty from our kind," he said quietly, "if you do, you tell them Edgar Wyndam said…"

The woman stopped so quickly, the horse stumbled beside her. He turned his sharp gaze on her.

"Oh, _Madam?"_ He signalled for two of his men to bar her way. Her eyes were flickering with recognition. She turned against her will.

"You're…_Wyndam?"_ He smiled what he hoped was a kind smile.

"My price…" he stretched out his hand. She nodded, fear in her eyes.

"What do you see?" his voice was soft. She took his hand, and he pulled her towards him, tilting her face upwards with his other hand.

"I…" she was trying to look away, but she couldn't.

"One of our kind is coming…your fates are entwined…you won't know her the first time you meet…" her breath was quickening, and her heart was racing. She was fighting him, but she wasn't strong enough.

"Let me go, sir…I can't…they won't let me…I don't know her name…she's not of my line…please…"

He kissed the inside of her wrist; to onlookers it would have looked as though he was comforting her. He bit down gently, taking just a small draft from her, then he released her. She fell a little as he let her go, the sudden blood loss making her dizzy.

"I keep my word, Madam. You will have safe passage." He turned away from the astonished woman and walked smartly back towards the others.

"Thank you…" she stammered, scrambling to her feet. Her son's ghost had appeared at her side. She started to tug at the horse to get away.

"Sir?" Johnson was running after Wyndam like an eager puppy. "Sir? You're…we're letting her go? She knows what we are…"

"Are you questioning my authority, Johnson?" The cold glare that hit Johnson silenced him. "You think she'll get far with that body? She'll be lucky to get to Berwick," he said scornfully. "A little fear goes a long way, Johnson. And never question me again, if you wish to have a long life."

He actually wished the woman luck; she would need it to get past the English troops. The vampires wouldn't dare touch her if she mentioned his name, the humans however…She had given him someone to look forward to though…and his kind had learnt to be patient…

He had kept an eye on the fortunes of the remaining seers ever since. Fate had done the rest.

**The Cottage – 1611**

Jenny sat at the kitchen table, pushing the food on her plate around. It had been three days since she'd told Harper she accepted Wyndam's protection, and she hadn't seen or heard anything. She was worried about Harper, that was a laugh, she thought, being worried about a vampire. She trusted him, Wyndam knew that now, and he would probably use it against her. The cottage was still being watched, that much she knew. She'd seen a dark-haired male vampire, slightly older than Harper, she thought, that morning. He had just nodded at her as she passed, and she got the impression he'd been told not to approach her. Fine, she thought, as long as they stay that far away. She made sure Isobel kept the cross round her neck, and she refused to let her play anywhere out of her sight unless they were in the village, where there were always plenty of people about. Isobel was already in bed, she hadn't eaten much dinner either.

Jenny had been thinking about her mother again. She looked at the faint trace of a scar on the palm of her hand. She'd had three nights of terrible dreams, the nightmares had started again; the smell of the wood, the look of horror in her mother's eyes...The authorities even made Elspeth more or less pay for her own burning, Jenny had found the bill demanding payment from her family, in her father's house, when she'd gone back to Edinburgh after her grandmother's death. It had listed everything down to the last shilling and sixpence. A person's life reduced to a bill of expenses. Money for the rope, money for the executioner, it went on and on. She wondered if that was why her mother's jewellery had vanished, to pay for her death, or to cover her father's debts. Probably both, she thought. She only had a little turquoise ring of her mother's left. She had taken it from her mother's jewellery casket, the morning before her...such a simple little piece of silver, with a little chip of turquoise at the centre. She had seen it in a silversmith's workshop off the Canongate, and begged her mother to buy it for herself. Elspeth had laughed, but she'd bought it all the same, and she had worn it until the day she was arrested. It was the first time in three years that Jenny had not seen her wear it. She had worn it herself when she'd been taken to the Castle, her gaolers missed where she had hidden it in her skirts. When...he...had found it, he'd tossed it back at her, saying, "It's not worth much, you might as well keep it." Oh God, she was not going to think about those times. Where was that ring? She found it under a pile of books; it had slipped down beneath the books Wyndam had given her. She put the ring on the ring finger of her right hand; it was a loose fit now. She looked at it for a long time. She would sell...herself...before she'd sell that ring. It was all there was left of Elspeth, that and the book Wyndam had told her to burn, and she only kept that because her mother had written her own name in it anyway

The door was knocked gently. She looked up nervously. Oh well, she thought, I won't find out who it is sitting here. She stood up and walked slowly over to the door, and opened it. A sheepish-looking Harper was standing a little way back from the step, so Wyndam had listened, she thought.

"Mr Harper," she smiled with relief, "you're...looking...I trust you are well?" He smiled.

"Yes, Miss. Mr Wyndam was very glad to hear you had accepted his protection."

I'll bet he was, she thought. Still, at least Wyndam had not ended Harper, and Ramsey had not been sent in his place. His colouring and manner were slightly different; she could tell he had fed tonight. Someone else had paid the price for their safety. Harper continued.

"He sends his regards, and he told me to tell you, it is your turn for Sunday dinner."

She froze, not thinking she had heard him correctly, the colour draining from her face. Harper smiled, uncertainly at her, before turning back to his horse, and bringing over a basket which he handed to Jenny.

"Mr Wyndam has certain matters he wishes to discuss with you, he wondered if five o'clock tomorrow would be agreeable to you?"

She was taken aback slightly. First he nearly kills me, then he has me dragged back, now he's asking if it's convenient to come over for dinner, she thought. This 'acquaintance' couldn't get any stranger if it tried. She pulled herself up to her full height, her hands on her hips.

"And what does my lord and master wish me to prepare?" The tone in her voice was dripping with sarcasm. Harper ignored it.

"He said whatever you chose to prepare would be fine with him." He pointed to the basket."There's a cut of venison in there, and some game."

Better not tell Isobel what venison is, she feeds the deer that come past the back of the cottage, thought Jenny.

"Any particular way he wants his dinner prepared?" She raised her eyebrows at Harper, her temper starting to rise.

"No Miss, whatever you think best," said Harper, turning to go. She stepped out of the doorway after him.

"You're not on watch tonight, Mr Harper?" He turned at the sound of her voice.

"No Miss. Mr Carter is on watch. I have to get back tonight." She could see the dark-haired vampire she'd seen that morning, standing under the oak tree opposite. Harper saw the concern in her eyes."Carter's alright. Bit of a fool when it comes to cards and taverns, but...you're safe with him. Good evening, Miss."

"Why am I still being watched? I said I wouldn't run." She was persistent, he gave her that. He sighed.

"Mr Wyndam has..." She cut him off.

"...his reasons."

"Yes, Miss. Goodnight." Harper smiled. Jenny went back inside, clearly annoyed. He walked his horse over to where Carter was standing.

"Everything alright, Jacob?" The other vampire sighed dramatically.

"Wonderful, James. I'm wet, cold, hungry, and very bored. How are you?" Harper laughed.

"Better than you, friend. Got to get back to the manor, pass a message on. You know what he's like."

"Rather you than me. Is he in a better mood than last week? I heard Ramsey got a thumping?" Harper nodded. Carter laughed."Couldn't happen to a _nicer_ fellow."

"He's on borrowed time now, Jacob," said Harper.

"Good. What are we doing here, James?" Harper looked back at the cottage.

"I have no idea. He wants the woman watched and kept safe, so that's what we do. And we don't question his motives, do we?"

"Not if we value our health, no." Carter stared over his shoulder at the cottage."What's she like anyway? I got a good look at her this morning. Not his usual..." Like you'd know, thought Harper.

"Very human...nice..." he said.

"Nice? Then why are we...I know...I know, keep your mouth shut, your eyes open, and do as you're told," he said. It was a line he'd heard often.

"Exactly," said Harper. Carter smiled, he placed one hand across his chest, the other he raised in a mock salute.

"I will treat her as if she were my _sister_, James." Harper looked at him with a wry grin.

"I thought you killed your sister?" Carter looked solemn.

"Not the nice one..."

"Here, I forgot," Harper handed him a small bag, "I couldn't give you this in front of her." Carter opened it to find some food and a small bottle.

"I take it..." he looked up at Harper hopefully.

"Yes, there should still be some life in it. Keep her safe, Jacob. He's coming here tomorrow." Carter drew in his breath. "Night," said Harper.

He got back to the manor within an hour. Wyndam was sitting writing letters at a desk in the parlour. A messenger waited on him. Wyndam sealed the letters and handed them to the messenger.

"Take the first to Mr Reade, in York. The second, to Mrs Armstrong in, where is she these days?"

"Canterbury, sir," said the messenger. Wyndam chuckled.

"Canterbury? Don't tell me she's got religion? She'll be doing her 'I need to repent my sins' routine. I hope the Archbishop's got his crucifix handy, that could get very messy." He handed the letters over, the messenger waited then said;

"Nothing for London, sir?"

"No." Wyndam said it without even looking up.

Harper coughed politely in the doorway. Wyndam looked up, as though he hadn't noticed him standing there, some hope thought Harper.

"Ah, Harper...off you go Matthews." He gestured to the messenger. "Close the door on your way out." He waited until the door closed before standing up and moving over towards the fire.

"Now Harper, tell me how it went. What did she say?" He rested one hand on the marble above the fire, and looked into the flames.

"She was nervous at your words, sir." Wyndam smiled, his eyes shining.

"And?"

"Then she said, 'what does my lord and master wish me to prepare?'"

Good, thought Wyndam, she's being sarcastic again. He turned his gaze on Harper, the smile never leaving his face.

"Just keeping her on her toes, Harper." He saw the strained look on Harper's face."I don't want to break her spirit, Harper. What do you think I'm doing?" His searching gaze was making Harper uncomfortable.

"I think...you're keeping her close and safe for a reason, sir, I also think..."

"Yes..."Wyndam's gaze was intensifying...

"...that you're keeping her a secret too..." Harper finished and took a breath.

Harper was learning, Wyndam thought. He'd have to keep an eye on him, especially given his obvious soft spot for Jenny. But she did trust Harper, and that meant she would feel more secure, and less likely to run, _so..._

"Indeed, Harper...is that what I'm doing?" Harper nodded, his stomach in knots. Wyndam turned back to the fire."In that case it would be very wise to hold one's tongue, for her sake, if nothing else...wouldn't it Harper? Goodnight."

"Sir." He left quietly. Wyndam continued staring into the fire. _As long as the others didn't find out about her...she's the last...and she was offered up to him after all..._

Five o'clock the next evening came. The door was again knocked, this time it was rapped loudly. Here we go, thought Jenny. She smoothed down her skirts, and her nerves, and opened the door. Wyndam stood, his hands behind his back, the familiar sly smile on his face.

"Good evening, Jenny."

"Wyndam." She stood back to let him in.

"You have a little more colour in your cheeks. Hello Isobel..."

"Hello Mr Wyndam..." she sneaked past her mother, towards the garden gate.

"Isobel," snapped her mother, "get back here now. It's your horse, Wyndam..."

"He wants more apples," Isobel came back up the path, kicking leaves aside to find any fallen apples.

"Does he?" Wyndam said it playfully. "That horse eats better than I do." Jenny's eyes shot to his face, but all that was there was an amused smile. "It's alright. She's safe. There are no more of my kind out there."

_Why would there be, you are here_, she thought. His smile widened. Jenny eyed Isobel, who was now standing by the horse, happily feeding it.

"Thank you for not...ending Mr Harper." She said it quietly. He turned back to look at her.

"Ach, I wouldn't end him for that. If he had bitten you...it would have been a different story. I never forget, but I occasionally forgive. Life would be very boring otherwise." He cast a look at where Isobel was standing, and said sternly; "Isobel, your mother wants you back inside. _Now."_

"Yes Mr Wyndam," she scooted back inside and was sitting at the table within seconds.

"How...?" Jenny was looking slightly stunned.

"It's the tone of my voice. Works on a six foot four vampire, bound to work on a child." The sly smile was back.

"My, we are in a good mood, aren't we?" She smiled archly back.

Jenny had chosen the venison, might as well she thought; they would never get a chance to eat it otherwise. She told Isobel, who was poking at the meat on her plate, that it was like a small brown cow, and it seemed to work. Wyndam was watching them both with that bemused smile. They finished the meal, Wyndam rested his elbows on the table, his fingers tapping the surface.

"And how have we all been?"

"The wee boy didn't make it," sighed Jenny. "His mother hasn't taken it well." Wyndam's face turned serious.

"Sad, but you said you didn't think he would make it. More a kindness that he didn't suffer..." Jenny's eyes swung to his, looking for the hint of cruelty, but again found none. If anything his face was remote.

"That woman looked at me strangely." They both turned to look at Isobel, whose innocent eyes were locked on the table.

"What woman?" said Wyndam. Jenny answered quickly for her daughter.

"The baby's mother...she was distraught...she looked a little..."

"Strange, how?" He ignored Jenny's attempts to push the subject away, focusing on Isobel.

"Like it was my fault, sir."

"I'm sure she was sad over losing her little boy Isobel," said Wyndam, "she won't have meant anything. People say all kinds of things when they are sad. Do you think that you or you mother did anything but help him?"

"No," she said it confidently.

"Then that's all that matters. Now your mother and I have things to talk about so..."

"I know, bed Isobel..." he smiled warmly at her.

"Goodnight, Isobel."

"Dismissing my child, now are we?" Jenny raised an eyebrow at him. He ignored her barb, his face again turning serious, all mirth gone.

"You need to be careful. It only takes one person to set people against you..."

"The woman is grieving...do you remember what that feels like..." she bit her tongue. "I need to check on her."

She got up from the table, pushing the chair back so quickly it scraped the stone floor. When she got back, the table had been cleared, again a candle was sitting unlit, and a bottle and two glasses, already filled, sat beside it. Another test, she thought. Wyndam motioned to the chair opposite. She sat down slowly.

"A toast, I think, to my protection, which you have _finally_ had the good sense to accept." He saw a flash of her temper in her eyes, before she picked up the glass. She was about to drink, when she smelt the peaty scent of the alcohol. She put the glass down gently on the table, gazing at it in the pale light.

"You're not drinking?" He was watching her curiously.

"I don't drink whisky," she said softly.

"A Scot who doesn't drink whisky!" He was teasing her, but she wouldn't rise to it.

"I've told you I won't run. Why am I still being watched?" He blinked then he softened his expression.

"They aren't just there to keep you from running; they are there for your protection."

"And I've asked you before, from what?" She looked at him directly.

"There are those who would harm your kind, you know this to be true, why are you questioning it?" He was being patient with her; he'd been expecting her to bridle at his actions.

"And you wouldn't?" She was holding his gaze. "What do you want from me?" She couldn't put it any plainer.

"Your trust, for a start. You have to trust someone, Jenny..." his tone was mild.

"Trust a vampire?" She actually laughed.

"Why not? Humanity hasn't exactly been kind to you. You_ fascinate_ me. Even now, after all humanity's done to you, you still want to help them, even when they throw your help back in your face...you want them spared..." Fear was starting to churn inside her.

"We don't hunt in villages, too many yokels with flaming torches and pitchforks..." he took a good drink of the whisky before continuing, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We do deal with problems, though, and I think it would be advisable for you not to visit the village for a while...I'm sure there's plenty you could be doing here..." he waved his hand airily about the room. She stood up quickly.

"Oh no you don't! I won't be 'lift and laid' when it suits you! You've already got me exactly where you want me, for whatever reason..." The fire in her surprised him, but he just smiled, knowing it riled her.

"I'm guessing 'lift and laid' means something else in Scotland..." he was enjoying himself immensely. "Please...sit down." He gestured to her chair. She sat down again, her temper still burning. She took a while to calm her breathing before speaking again.

"What does your 'protection' really mean for us?" She laid her hands palm side down on the table.

"It means keeping you safe, if you need anything, money," her eyes flashed up at him at that, "...food, we've already sorted out the shelter part with this cottage...anything you need..."

"Except my freedom." That searching gaze was on her.

"Where would you go?" He said it softly. She looked away.

"Humanity hunts us all under different names," he continued, "they turn on us because they don't understand us, they fear what they don't know, what they can never understand..." He lifted his glass again. "You, of all people, know I'm telling the truth. You are different, nothing can change that..." She still wasn't looking at him; her gaze was on Isobel's door.

"I'm not a witch..." _These are her tricks...the whispered memory in her mind..._

"No, but you are a seer, and a very powerful one at that. You've managed to keep what you remembered about your first little escape from me in Edinburgh out of your head, until now..." She looked back at him with a wary glint in her eye. There was an understanding smile on his face. "Oh, Jenny...did you really think you could keep secrets from me..." She was starting to feel so cold...

"What was I to be? I was to replace the vampire that was lost..." she was having trouble breathing.

"No, not necessarily," he was completely calm, as though they were discussing the weather. "I hadn't met you. I hadn't made my mind up about you. The others didn't know about your existence..." they still don't, he thought.

"What would have happened to me if you'd found me?" Her nerves were shooting ice through her body. His sharp eyes were watching her carefully.

"You would have been taken into my care." _He was thinking of Hetty...of a cold stone castle on the coast..."_You wouldn't have had a life...you certainly wouldn't have had Isobel..." he paused for a second. "I would have been very careful about the company you kept...the vampire to whom a person is offered up, is the one who decides what use is made of them..." He got up; poured her measure of whisky into his own glass, then he fetched the bottle of brandy from the cupboard. He poured a large measure into her glass, and handed it to her.

"Drink it." She looked at him warily. He softened his tone. "Drink it. You need it." He sat down again.

"I still haven't made up my mind about what to do with you."

"An honest vampire?" She laughed harshly.

"It happens." He was watching her intently. "You would have been chosen." I have been, she thought.

"I should have seen you for what you were that day in Edinburgh, but my mind was on other things. Your King had caused 'difficulties' for supernaturals...the Edinburgh coven had been made to disappear..." he shrugged, "to cut a long story short, I dealt with the situation...then I met one of the Court, who mentioned how upset Lilian Ross would be to lose her daughter, that it was her little granddaughter I pulled back from the flames...such a shame, such a bright little thing too..." he broke off, she had a strange, sad look in her eyes.

"Would you like to know what happened when I came after you, that first time? I can show you, you're strong enough, but you have to trust me. I am not trying to destroy you; I am trying to help you." He took both her hands in his. She didn't flinch or try to pull them away. He traced the scar on her palm.

"Your mother used a blood incantation to protect you, a very clever one at that. It's similar to one we vampires use ourselves..." The fire flickered in her eyes. "Oh yes Jenny, your kind aren't the only ones who know how to harness certain forces...She made you forget...she tried to hide your abilities, as much as any seer's can be hidden. But the curious thing about a blood incantation, is that if you lose a lot of blood, like you did when you had Isobel, for instance, the protection begins to fracture...the abilities already there grow stronger...the memories come back...a very smart way to hide you from a vampire...even one as old as myself. Did you have strange dreams when you were younger?" Her mouth twitched slightly. "Yes, I hunted for you for several years, Jenny. It wasn't your grandmother who was protecting you all those years, it was your mother."

He saw just a ghost of a memory pass so quickly through her mind, she missed the sharp look in his eyes, he thought he'd seen a trace of guilt in those sad grey eyes...

"Now, do you want to see what happened?" He was eager now, she was strong.

"How?" She smiled sadly, pulling her hands back.

"I let you hear my thoughts, when I gave you the three objects as a test. I can show you what happened...I can let you in...it's a measure of_ trust_...for us both...do you trust me?"

"Another test?" She sighed. He smiled ruefully.

"More a proving. Do you trust me?" The searching gaze was there. "What do you see, when you look at me?" His look was questioning. She felt herself being drawn in.

_"I see years of...so many souls...so many years...a battle...someone lost...a long time ago..."_ She was feeling so dizzy, like the world was turning so fast that she would fall if she stopped for just a second_..."You...drowned in it...then...you...ran...then you...let it in..."_ She was feeling a tightness round her head, the pain was starting again.

"Breathe," he said it softly, she was getting a little too close. "Do you trust me?"

She looked over at Isobel's door, her head feeling like lead.

"I have your word that you won't harm her?" His face was so still.

"Yes."

"And you keep your word, don't you Wyndam?" He smiled darkly.

"Yes. It's the one thing I do keep. Why would I hurt her, or you for that matter? Everything I've done is to keep you safe. Can you say the same about your grandmother?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them wide.

"I trust you Wyndam," he smiled gently, "but only so far," she countered.

"It's a start. I wouldn't expect anything else." He raised his glass.

"There's always a price to pay isn't there, Wyndam?"

"Always," he said.


	10. Chapter 10

THE SEER

**It's getting very cold in the cottage. Someone's a bit peckish. "Welcome to The Glass Half Full..." Comments and reviews are welcomed. The Being Human characters to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.**

**Chapter Ten**

**The Black Bull Inn, Manchester**

"Maybe she's our Christmas dinner?"

Jacob Carter stood, his hair ragged, eyeing the mess of a blood drunk night around him. "I mean, he's feeding her up, isn't he?"

Harper sat awkwardly next to the bar-keeper's wife, or more rightly now, widow. She was half-asleep, her head on Harper's shoulder, half drunk, just about to be drunk from too...They'd been given clear instructions, a 'favour' had been asked, the removal of a problem...A quick killing, a neat but painful killing, and if they wanted to feed...two birds with one stone...Wyndam had smiled very darkly when he handed Harper the details. Harper had read the note, then handed it back. Wyndam threw the note on the fire. Its content had the desired effect on Harper. His face tightened.

"Sir."

"I thought you were the right vampire for the task. I know you have...difficulty...sometimes with the need to feed...I'm sure that won't be a problem for you this time..." His look was knowing.

"No, sir..."

The woman was so far away with the drink, she actually told Harper what she had done, boasting about it..."I turned her out onto the street, thought she was too good to clean floors, few weeks she'd have been begging or..." she looked at the bottle, her head woozy. "I told her to take her fine airs and graces to the house down the lane...she didn't like that. Ha ha!" She didn't even notice how quiet and still Harper was. Jacob knew him though, he always went that way, right before...it was as though he had to let the anger build to...

"I thought you said she was only a child..." Harper said it so quietly, only Jacob heard him. He repeated himself, a little louder this time. The woman hiccuped, then laughed.

"So? Not _my_ child...that useless jacka…jackanapes' over there, where are you Michael?" Her head was moving from side to side, the alcohol clearly taking effect. "She was thirteen, a mouth to feed, she could earn her keep, one way or another...but no, she was going into service with a 'fine lady' when she came for her...but she didn't, did she?"

Harper caught his breath at the woman's callousness. He tightened his grip on her neck.

"What happened to her?" He already knew, that was why they were here, on Wyndam's orders, an Old One had been crossed, and they never reacted well to that.

"They found her on the moor, froze to...froze to...hic!" She was so nearly gone, but she didn't know it.

Mrs Armstrong had seen the girl the last time she'd come north, and thought her to be the answer to the neverending 'problem' that was Hetty. "Someone her own age, Edgar...maybe that will work..." Wyndam had pointed out the obvious to her, putting his foot down,

"That's just it, Judith...Hetty is not a child...and the last time she got 'lonely' there was a big, bloody mess to clear up..." the northern accent coming out, as it usually did when he was annoyed. Judith turned on the tears.

"Edgar...I know she's...difficult..." He laughed.

_"Difficult?"_ Judith turned on the smooth charm that worked so well on humans.

"But you got Harper out of that big, bloody mess...Edgar..." He looked at her with that cruel expression; she was now trying her most pleading face out. He'd seen that once too often for that to work.

"Watch my lips, Judith...the answer is no. Into service, yes, not turned...not another child. If she proves to be someone who can handle the 'little madam', then yes, when she is older..." Judith had stormed out the door, past Jacob, whilst Wyndam shouted after her, "And no _'accidental'_ turning either, Judith...no 'my fangs just slipped', _I'll find out..."_ Jacob had told Harper all about it; Harper had known how it would end. Another victim for that 'little madam', Judith had taken an almighty huff, then promptly forgot about the girl. Wyndam had asked if the girl had been 'invited' down, Matthews had told him that no one had been taken south on the last trip.

"She must have changed her mind," he mused, the matter seemingly closed. Harper knew that most vampires thought human life was cheap, but humans could always outdo them in the sellers' stakes...the girl had been turned out on the coldest night in years...only one way that was going to turn out...

Jacob was watching Harper's reactions. They'd already finished off the bar-keeper, but Harper was eking out the wife. Why was he doing this to himself, thought Jacob? They didn't need to know all this, the couple had thrown an Old One's pet out, she was dead; they would pay for that alone.

Harper was thinking about the woman and her child. They were being well-looked after by Wyndam. Mrs Armstrong on the other hand had promised the girl a life of comfort, forgotten about her, then cried her mock tears. Quite how she had heard about the girl's death...but then again, the vampires' own network of messengers was very efficient, they usually beat even the King's own service, though how much of that was by fair means...the odd human messenger never reaching their destination...She had written a letter, requesting Wyndam's assistance, too 'heartbroken' to clear up her own 'mess'...if the woman met the same fate...he would never...

"James?" Carter's voice seemed so loud.

"She _froze_ to death..." Every time Harper thought vampires were the most cruel things on this earth, humanity would prove him wrong. He would remember this woman's casual cruelty for a long time.

"She was your step-daughter..." the woman lifted one eyelid.

_"So?"_ She laughed, just for a moment. He didn't even bother to cover her mouth to stop her screams...

Afterwards, Harper sat, coming down from the blood, his hands still shaking. Jacob poured him some more ale.

"I'm sorry, James." Harper looked up at him, the edge coming out of his eyes.

"What?"

"I didn't mean to make fun of the woman. Then again, maybe she_ is_ our Christmas dinner..." Harper gave him such a glare that Jacob held his hands up, "I'm sorry, I know...he doesn't want her harmed, but he has fed from her, you said so yourself..." Harper shrugged. He was sure Wyndam wasn't still feeding from her, she was pale, but that was probably her natural colouring.

"Look James, he hasn't killed her, and he hasn't harmed her, apart from a little nip...maybe he's just keeping an eye on her for someone...what about the child's father?" Harper looked at him, not quite comprehending. Jacob rolled his eyes. "Well the child came from somewhere, didn't she?"

"I don't think there is one, not around..." said Harper, though why he thought that, he didn't know. Jacob smiled at him.

"Look, he was in a good mood when he dismissed me...he wasn't in the 'I'm going to tear her heart out and roast it on a spit' mood...Maybe he just likes her company..." Harper's face turned glacial. Jacob held his hands up again. "Alright, alright...but he's an Old One, James. You do not meddle in their affairs; there are worse things than dying, _again."_ Harper nodded. Jacob continued.

"And he still trusts you to watch her, that's a good sign. He wants her alive, my friend." He looked around the room. "Now I think we have a bit of clearing up to do. What do you think, the usual 'robbery gone badly'? And there might be a few bottles we've missed..."

**The Cottage**

Jenny cleared the table, and handed Wyndam a light from the fire. She stood nervously, whilst he lit the candle.

"How does this work? You just let me into your mind? Have a rout around in your memories?" He smiled benignly at her.

"Yes. It's not that difficult. Should be very easy, for such a powerful seer. A _doddle_, in fact."

They both sat down. He pointed to the candle, its light cast a faint golden glow on the table.

"I want you to look into the flame. When you hear my voice, I want you to look right into my eyes..." she gave him such a sceptical look. "What?" A look of innocence crossed his face.

"And you'll let me in? I will see your memories?" She still doubted him, there had to be a catch.

"Yes. You sound so surprised." The sly grin was back.

"Oh ye of _little_ faith..."

She smiled herself at that; it seemed so strange coming out of a vampire's mouth.

"Your hands, please." He took her hands in his. His skin felt cooler than her own, he noticed her reaction. "We are always colder than...Now, same as before. Clear your mind. Concentrate on the flame." The room felt so quiet, and suddenly so dark to Jenny.

"Now..." his voice was so soft. She looked into his eyes and felt a jolt, then the same drawing in that she had felt earlier. She blinked, then she felt a breeze, like a veil lifting...she was seeing through his eyes...he was walking briskly through the streets towards her parents' house in Leith, she recognised some of the place names, it was the strangest sensation, as though she was floating, but trapped at the same time...She couldn't believe what she was seeing, everything was higher up so it had to be Wyndam's memories...she could feel the tension in him, he was not happy. The streets were emptying, night had fallen. Two women passed, she knew their faces, and one of them was Mary, her mother's maid. She could hear their whispers...

"I'm not staying...a house of witches...he can drink himself to death, I don't care. He as good as lit the fire beneath her...I'm not going against Lilian Ross...that bairn will..." She felt Wyndam's temper rise. He grabbed Mary by the throat, the other woman by the wrist, and pulled them both into a vennel.

"What did you say?" Mary was grasping at his fingers, the other woman just trembled. "If you know what is good for you, hold your tongue and run..." The woman nodded, picked up her skirts and ran for her life. Mary's eyes were full of fear. "Now...where were we? Lilian Ross...where is she?" Mary was starting to cry. He responded by shaking her once against the wall.

"Tears don't work on me. Where is she?"

Mary whispered; "Gone…"

"And the child?" His grip was strengthening. Mary was staring at him in horror, her eyes wild.

"She took her…I don't know where…Himself…he's still at the house…she told us to leave…"

_So the famed seer had run for the hills…the child had to have some abilities after all, the hypocrite had offered her up then tried to cheat him…he had only wanted to meet the child properly, assess her potential…oh Madam, you've really given the game away by running…_

Jenny could hear Mary's terrified sobs, but Wyndam wasn't looking at her. He turned his attention back to her, leaned forward, and whispered into her right ear;

"Run…and don't look back…if you want to live…" He let her go, and she ran, her heels clipping on the cobbles. Wyndam could hear her jumbled thoughts.

"The Devil himself…I knew she was a witch…" Jenny felt him smile.

_Not that far off it, the mood I'm in tonight…_ She felt the determination in him. He couldn't be that far from the house. One more turn and he was there, the solid oak door that was so familiar to Jenny. The door stood ajar, that was unusual, she thought. The house was empty, bar for one, sluggish, but steady heartbeat. Wyndam walked slowly from room to room, his temper rising. Each room was in a guddle, chairs overturned, as though someone had been ransacking the place. He found her father in his study. He was snoring gently, his head still on the table. More empty whisky bottles lay around him. She felt Wyndam's eyes narrow, then he turned on his heel and marched down the stairs to the kitchen. He grabbed a pail of water, and calmly walked back up the stairs. He stood for just a moment, then he threw the water straight over Jenny's father. He stirred slightly, but not enough for Wyndam, who pulled him upright in his chair, and shook him hard. He seemed to rouse.

"What? Who…are…?"

Wyndam pulled a chair across in front of him, and leant on it, staring at her father. It was strange to see him through Wyndam's eyes, he didn't look as fearsome as she remembered, if anything he seemed smaller.

"You are…_were_…the husband of Elspeth Ross, daughter of Lilian Ross, of Applecross?" Her father's eyes twitched, nervously.

"My commiserations on your loss…" She recognised that sarcastic edge in Wyndam's voice. Her father's eyes showed his guilt, he looked down at the floor.

"But then you were the one who named her so…" Her father was trying to place Wyndam's face.

"How long since they left?"

"Who?" Her father went to stand up, but Wyndam pushed him back into the chair. He opened his mouth to protest, but Wyndam got there first.

"No use calling for your servants. You think they'll help you? It looks like they've already taken their wages…or was that the bailiffs? Your servants are not very happy with you, you cost them their mistress, and their 'little one'…in fact…can you hear that? No? They've all gone…It's just you and me…" Wyndam sat down. He leant forwards, his hands clasped in front of him.

"This is just a little visit…" Her father started at that, the penny had dropped. He knew what Wyndam was. His eyes were fixed warily on his face.

"Ah! _Now_ you remember me! If I'd known who you were, I wouldn't have let you melt away in that crowd. How is the little one? How is she coping? I'm assuming that it was her grandmother who took her away?"

Her father stuttered; "I…don't…"

"Come, come, sir…I met one of your servants. She was most helpful…How long since they left?" Wyndam's eyes were scorching into her father's. She couldn't see anything but fear and guilt…

"I must say I am more than a little disappointed to have missed her…" He could have been talking to a friend, his tone was so even.

"Your eyes…" Her father didn't speak the words, he breathed them. She felt Wyndam smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are they black as night? That happens when I'm a bit annoyed…" Jenny could feel his temper rising. "You just have to worry about my fangs…" Her father gasped.

"Oh _dear,"_ said Wyndam, that hint of cruelty there, "are they showing too?"

He stood up so quickly, her father jerked back, raising his hands to cover his face. She could see into his mind, through Wyndam's eyes, she saw herself, cowering from him, waiting for the blow, was she ever that wee…

"Not quite so brave when it's not a child you're dealing with, are you?" The disgust was clear in Wyndam's tone. "Where is she going? Lilian…where is she taking her?" _She'd have had more sense than to tell this fool, but it was worth a try…_Jenny heard the thought distinctly.

"She wouldn't tell me…I…" She felt Wyndam's eyes narrow again, understanding him perfectly.

"You never asked, did you?" Her father looked down, finally shamed.

"Your own _daughter…_and you never asked?" Wyndam hissed the words at him, as he grabbed him and pushed him against the open window. The study was three storeys up, she remembered, she'd nearly fallen out of it herself, a dare from her brother…Her father was muttering at Wyndam, under his breath. Wyndam was scathing.

"You think your words can hurt me? Half-remembered oaths and curses, _that's_ the best you can throw at me?" He pushed her father's head out of the window. He was the one scared now, she thought. _Good._

"She's her mother's daughter…there's nothing of me in her…" Wyndam blinked, then he laughed.

"I'd say that was a good thing, wouldn't you? A man who can trade his wife…and a seer at that…a man who knows the price of everything…and throws it all away to save his own skin…" He threw him down before the fireplace. He landed on the hearth, the cracking sound made Jenny flinch. Wyndam bent down, whispering;

"They burnt the _wrong_ person…"

Her father's breathing was shallow, he was in real pain now, Wyndam didn't care. He stood up, and stepped away from him.

"I'd start running now if I were you…I've got a feeling your life's about to get a lot worse…Lilian Ross has friends…you waited 'til she was out of the country to destroy her daughter…they may not have been able to save Elspeth, but you are a very different target…" Wyndam walked over to the door.

"I'm sure we'll meet again someday. It would be no sport to kill you tonight. But one night, sir, you will open your eyes, and the last thing you will see will be my face, and I will remind you of what you cost me this day…Pleasant dreams, _sir…"_

The scene faded, but another one took its place. The images were blurred, older somehow…Confusion. Wyndam was standing, a sword in his hand. She can feel fear in him. Others are falling all around him. He and the rest of the men are fighting, if they stop, it's the end…if they fall…_they_ win…He sees black eyes…what the…The devils have got through the outer wall…he's not even supposed to be here…he made a mistake…it wasn't his fault…they told them the house was empty…burn it down…The others are no soldiers, but they're brave, they know if they get through the gatehouse it is over…there's blood in his eyes…he can't see…pain, terrible pain…he can hear laughter…he can hear _screams_…

Jenny felt herself being thrown back violently, the memories broke apart, and she was fighting for breath, her throat constricting. The connection was broken. She opened her eyes. Wyndam's hands were still raised, his eyes were _so_ black. It was the absence of any feeling that really chilled her.

"How did...?" He lowered his arms slowly; his eyes never left her's.

_Oh God, he'll kill me now, if I look away, we are gone..._She could feel the hunger there...she would have seen the warning signs if she hadn't been so lost in the past...His eyes were so set.

"It's so easy to be cruel, isn't it?" Why did she say that? She was looking at a killer, _their_ killer...

_You know just where to press...you've done it often enough...a gentle click...that little bone in her neck...you don't even have to look at her eyes...if she struggles...all the better...it's what you are..._

"I didn't...push...it was there...I don't care what you do to me, but Isobel...your word...Wyndam...whatever happens to me...let _her_ go..."

He blinked, the blackness disappeared, and the familiar blue eyes were staring at her. Even with the black eyes gone, she could see the vampire sharpness there.

"She won't come to harm at my hand," he said it softly. He could hear her heart thundering. He had to get out of here now. The hunger was twisting its way through him. Any longer...it was sharpening its hold..._the debt had to be paid again tonight..._

"Did I pass the test?" She was shaking, she knew, but she wouldn't look away.

"Yes." It was his turn to smile sadly. "You got a little too close for comfort, for us both I think." He paused. "Old memories...sometimes they're better left in the past..." He got up and brought her a cup of water. She took the cup, but didn't look at him.

"Why didn't..."

"I kill him?" She nodded, turning to look at him. The sharpness was gone. He sat down again.

"There was always a chance, a very slim chance admittedly, that Lilian would slip up. Where else would you have gone but back to him? I did have him watched, for several years, but there were no letters home, and no word in Edinburgh of your whereabouts."

_And to think Lilian Ross had considered handing her over to the wolves, that really would have been a waste,_ he thought.

"You need to go now, don't you?" She was understandably wary, her eyes kept flitting to Isobel's door, and they weren't out of danger yet. He stood up.

"Yes." He walked over to the door. "Don't..."

"Where would I go?"

He stopped, his hand on the ring of the door handle.

"Once you take a life...it's the same as if you take a thousand...there is no way back..." He said it quietly. He knew those sad, grey eyes were on him.

"No redemption?" She was curious. He sighed.

"Oh Jenny...God doesn't_ care_ about his 'children', haven't you worked that one out yet? He made monsters, even in his own Paradise, then he cast us out...Goodnight."

**The Glass Half Full, the York Road**

It was a plain timber-framed building. It didn't stand out; it didn't look anything out of the ordinary. That was the point. In fact, it was easy to miss if you didn't know where to look. It was just off the York road. The front door opened onto what was expected. An inn, a very fine inn too, the best alcohol in the North, none of the gut rot you found elsewhere. If you wanted a little 'company', that could be arranged too...No thieves dipped their sticky fingers into your purse there, the landlord was very strict about that...any funny business, you didn't do it again...Humans came for the landlord's sense of humour, and the fact it was open all hours, the proper authorities looking the other way. Humans had a habit of doing that when it suited them. The side door, now that was a different matter. It opened onto much the same scene, a traditional inn, roaring log fire, more benches, than stools, perhaps, for obvious practical reasons. They were less likely to make the inn's 'other' customers nervous, vampires could be very belligerent when drunk, whether it be the alcohol, or the really hard red stuff. No humans came in that door, unless they were very drunk, or very foolish. Several doors led off through the back. Most vampires never got to see what lay behind those doors, content to have a tankard full of the good stuff in front of them. They didn't care about who supplied it or why the blood was so fresh. The Glass had so many dark secrets; it was surprising the place didn't sink into the ground under the weight of them all. One of them was why it had been built so close to the road to York, for a plentiful supply route of criminals and lone travellers, many never making it home. Not too many, just enough that it wasn't noticed.

There was a similar establishment in London, near Tyburn. The Hangman's Drop. Wyndam smiled that tight, cruel smile. Vampires could have a very dark, twisted humour. A more aptly named place, there never was. Condemned prisoners often spent a night or two before their 'official' execution, the right palms crossed with silver; nervous but grasping eyes looking the other way, yet again. If the odd prisoner met their end a little early, well that saved the authorities the cost of their keep, and the executioner's fee. As long as the mobs got their 'entertainment', it didn't matter if condemned eyes were glassy from blood loss. It often kept his kind from creating the kind of mayhem that the hunger demanded. He'd been there when the humans erected the 'Tyburn Tree', just so they could kill more of their own. Louisa had been there with him, watching the spectacle.

"And _we're_ supposed to be the evil ones, Edgar..."

"Oh we are, Louisa, but at least we have an excuse, we kill to feed." He'd turned away, but she kept watching, she was looking for someone in particular.

"Don't they? Look at them...applauding when they brave it out...booing when they weep...Curious creatures, aren't they? Never happier than when they are picking over the bones..." She was younger than him, and already sounded so jaded.

"There he is..." She tugged at Wyndam's sleeve. A young, ashen-faced man, seemingly unconscious, was being booed by the crowd. The gaolers around him were muttering, looking at the crowd nervously. The executioner pulled the man's head up by the hair, then let it fall back.

"This one's dead already." The crowd's jeers made his mind up for him. He whispered to his assistant, "Get him away now, the mood they're in, they'll tear him up." The man smiled curtly.

"Certainly, sir." He turned and looked straight at Louisa, who smiled sweetly back.

"I win!" She said it with a gleam in her eye.

"That's your _new_...you turned a condemned prisoner before he...Very stylish, Louisa..."

"Thank you, Edgar. I take that as a compliment...I'd better collect him before they throw him out with the rest of the bodies." She turned to leave. "His name's Jacob, by the way." She curtseyed, he was the elder, after all. Wyndam chuckled.

"How very biblical of you..."

* * *

><p>The human walked through the side door. He missed the strange looks the other drinkers gave him. He'd been told it was the best place for a drink, good prices too. He sauntered up to the bar. The other drinkers turned back to their tankards. The woman serving smiled,<p>

"Just a moment, sir." She went through the door that connected the two parts of the inn. The landlord came back through with her.

"Welcome to The Glass Half Full, sir. You may well leave feet first..."

"That's the idea..." the man laughed. The landlord smiled his friendliest smile, the little red thread veins on his face flushing redder. He winked at the man.

"Don't say I didn't warn you...you came in the wrong door, sir, but take a seat..."

The side door opened again. The landlord's manner changed.

"Lizzie, take care of this customer." He moved away to the other end of the bar. The human didn't notice anything, but the atmosphere changed so subtly. The vampires straightened, one whispered to another, "That's Wyndam..."

"Sir...I haven't seen you for a while..." An Old One patronising his establishment did him no harm...Wyndam smiled, the hunger was so sharp now, it was piercing his brain. The only visible sign was a slight twitch in his left hand. Six-hundred years of killing and control. The landlord turned on his most fawning manner. He lowered his voice.

"A little drink, sir?" Wyndam smiled, he could just about keep the black eyes from appearing, but not for much longer.

"No, I think a large one."

"Right you are, sir!" The landlord's eyes danced. "Your usual room?"

The simpering fool, thought Wyndam. He smiled back politely. The landlord took it as a good sign.

"I have one I've been keeping especially, sir. This way."

The room was kept for his special clients, who liked to drink privately. It wasn't a room for 'company'. A small fireplace, a comfortable, horse-hair filled chair, and a table and two wooden chairs were the only moveable furniture in the room. The only other comfort in the room was a long, padded bench where the window should have been. There were fresh candles everywhere. The landlord lit them all quickly, Wyndam was very quiet, and that unnerved him.

"Won't be a moment, sir." The landlord went through to the human part of the inn. He tapped a blonde-haired young woman on the shoulder. She was clearing the tables, most of the human customers had already gone.

"Leave that, Sarah. I want you to serve a gentleman." She hadn't been here long, but she shot him a look.

"Not like that, I know you're a good, God-fearing lass." She smiled, she was young, but she wasn't that naive.

"He's a good customer. Proper gentleman. Take this brandy through to him. Oh hang on; I'll have to show you the way, won't I?" The two halves of The Glass were kept separate for very good reasons. He knocked the door, and waited.

"Yes?" The landlord opened the door quickly.

"Mr Wyndam...this is Sarah...she'll be waiting on you." The girl bobbed in the doorway, then looked up at the gentleman, who was sitting at the table. He seemed pleasant enough. He was smiling, his teeth were very white.

"Come in." The landlord left them to it immediately. Discretion was required in his business. Sarah poured the brandy for the gentleman, then she stood waiting by the table.

"How long have you been here?" She smiled, she was so young, he thought.

"Two weeks, sir." Of course, not long enough to see the other side of the place, he thought.

"Have a drink with me." His most charming smile, eyes open, welcoming even.

"I shouldn't, sir. That's when the trouble starts." He laughed warmly.

"How true! Sit with me then."

"I'm not that kind of..." she eyed him playfully, but warily.

"Of course you're not. I didn't mean...tell me where you come from...what idiot let you get away..." _What cold-hearted person sent you here..._

She laughed, but she moved closer, his smile was so inviting, he seemed genuine. He was probably just a lonely soul; wanting to talk about how his wife didn't understand him...she'd met a few like that already. No wedding band though, she noticed. She looked at the chair, her feet _were_ killing her. He smiled, then gestured to the chair opposite. She sat down, telling him everything, he seemed so warm and understanding, she didn't notice the tremble in his left hand, that he never used her name, how his eyes were narrowing all the time, the cruel tilt of his mouth, and how he laughed at everything she said, pulling her in...Sometimes it was too easy...

_She felt a little light-headed; she hadn't touched a drop, that was odd._

Wyndam's eyes were searing over her. She was a pretty little thing, the complete opposite of...long blonde hair, pretty, but no future. Even if she hadn't come here, her tale was already told. Sometimes he could see it, whether it was their aura, or just their manner. He could be a merciless killer, but not tonight. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else. He'd make it quick. He'd make it kind. It wasn't fair but...he needed to feed...He ran his fingers gently over her wrists, not a mark to be seen, she hadn't been tasted.

"Shame..." He said it softly, not looking at her. _She had never felt so warm, so light..._

"Why?" She looked at his face closely in the light of the fire. "I'm not..."

"Oh I think we've gone past that, don't you?" He moved so fast, one hand to her throat, the other to her waist, pulling her to him.

"You're not human..." she breathed. He smiled wistfully, one hand stroking the pale skin on her neck.

"I haven't been human in a very long time..."

He lifted her onto the bench, and killed her quickly, not spilling a drop. The hunger had won again. It always would.

He laid her down on the bench. She hadn't struggled, she had accepted it. He was waiting for her spirit to appear; he wanted to explain it somehow. She appeared quickly, no tears, no horror, just a questioning face. She looked down at her own body, then up at him.

"Why?" He kept his now clear blue eyes on her.

"You were dead from the moment you walked in the door." He said it quietly. Her door appeared. She looked at it with alarm.

"You have nothing to fear there. The people who sent you here though..." He opened the room's own door, the landlord just 'happened' to be passing.

"I take it everything was...she was..." He was fawning again. He could only see a faint shape, to Wyndam, she was so vivid.

"Who sent her here?" The directness was back in his tone. The landlord looked at him, not understanding. Wyndam said impatiently; "I take it there was a debt to be paid, or a favour? Who sent her here?" Sarah was watching them both; the questioning look was still there.

"London. Her parents. They owed money to...payment was insisted upon..." The landlord was starting to feel a heaviness in his chest. "Payment in blood...instead..."

_They hadn't offered their own necks in payment though,_ thought Wyndam.

"How much was..." The landlord was feeling distinctly unwell now. He whispered the amount to Wyndam, whose face turned to stone. "They sent her here as payment for _that?"_ The landlord nodded.

"The parents agreed. What about them, sir?" Wyndam was watching her spirit, his face was still set in stone.

"Well, I wouldn't like her to be **lonely."** Sarah's eyes widened.

"I have a feeling they won't be going to the same place though." She smiled; a little cruel hint of understanding was there. Her hand was on the door's handle. Wyndam continued.

"She gets a proper burial...they don't."

"Yes, sir." She opened the door; the light was so bright behind it.

"And, my fine host, make sure they _suffer..."_

"Yes, sir."

He passed through the vampires in the outer public room, taking no notice of anyone. Not blood drunk, the hunger wouldn't be that kind, but sated. Another face to add to the long list. He had been 'kind'. There were worse fates behind the doors. He had to get back to the manor. Home. Or what passed for one. He hadn't had one of them in a long time. They should have moved on by now...

He passed the now hopelessly drunk human. Lizzie lifted the man's head, and whispered into his ear, her sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light.

"We like you to feel welcome...but we like it better when you bleed..."


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you to anyone still reading. Big thanks to Saint, for the medical hints, and the name. Reviews and comments are welcome. Someone's off on a hunt...someone's having a word with God...and someone's telling tales...**

Chapter Eleven

The hunger hadn't lessened. It had been appeased, nothing more. Wyndam paced the room, nerves jangling. He had to hunt, the cruelty had to come out, there was no way he could be near her at the moment. The little dark voice was there, niggling away at him. _You've already tasted her blood...remember how it tasted...the warmth...the strength...she's just waiting there...you will kill her in the end anyway...one way or another...why pretend otherwise...you will not let her go...you said so...you can't let her go...she's seen too much..._

She wasn't a meal, he told himself. How the hell had she got so far back into his memories? So long ago...no one else was left from that...he was the last one...there were older vampires still 'breathing', a few of them were on the continent, mouldering away in draughty castles. Most of them he couldn't stand, the ones he could were the ones who still took an interest in the world around them. She was powerful...it was getting harder to walk away...that was the point...she intrigued him...that hadn't happened in a long time. She was a survivor. It wasn't just her abilities or a prophecy that was drawing him to her. "Your fates are entwined..." He'd met many who claimed to be able to see the future, most he usually ended up killing, strange that they never saw _that_ one coming...but true seers were rare. And Lilian Ross had been right; Jenny was the most powerful one of her line. He would take her there soon, if she passed that test...but she would have to trust him, and right now with the blood hunger raising its ugly head again...The child was a...complication...but nothing was too...The opportunity had presented itself to him...A seer, under his control...She would have a life now, he could be very benevolent, even magnanimous when he chose...especially when he was getting his own way...But cross him...

He stretched his fingers. The hunger was beginning to gnaw at him. There was no ability there, the child was human, the family practice of marrying very selectively had gone awry there. It hadn't been Jenny's fault; she had to get out of that cell somehow...showed a certain...pluck. If she'd left it any longer...he had seen the list of prisoners, her case was decided in her absence. Execution, not banishment. 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'. They had clearly been taking no chances in Edinburgh, the daughter of an executed witch, after all, and that was before the Gunpowder Plot exploded...Her father was still alive, he'd made discreet enquiries already. Not in the fine house his wife's talents had wrung for him now though...The little dark voice was stabbing away at him again...He saw no future for the child. It won't be at his hand, he will not kill...There was no way around it. He needed to hunt...to let the darkness have its way...

**The Cottage**

"Why do we have to go to church?" Isobel was standing sullenly, her best dress on, whilst Jenny rummaged for her little cloak.

"I just thought it would be a good idea if we reminded God that we are here...Stand still while I..." she wiped at Isobel's hands with a cloth. "I swear child, you don't play in the garden, you dig it up like a mole...Look at the muck on your hands. Go and wash them again, we'll be late."

She couldn't tell her the truth, that she was looking for a little divine assistance. That, and the note she had received from the Reverend. She hadn't much time for God since her mother's death. The hypocrites praying for the souls of the dearly burnt, oblivious to their screams...The English church was technically a similar faith to the one she was brought up with but...if she was honest with herself, she was looking for any sign of what she should do. The spirits were keeping very quiet, the flames were showing her no signs of anything either. Wyndam had come so close to... killing her the other night, and yet he had pulled back again from carrying it out. She knew he'd gone to find someone to feed from, she thought that perhaps the older a vampire was, the less they would need to feed. Maybe it was the other way round...

Isobel was back, the sullen look was gone.

"Let me see..."said Jenny. "You'll do." Isobel sighed.

"But you don't even_ believe_ in God, Mum." Jenny pushed her out of the door, pulling her own cloak on, and closing the door behind them.

"Better not say that to the Reverend, Isobel, the church might just fall down around us..."

They sat at the back. A full house today, she thought. Mr and Mrs Burnett were sitting further down. The young couple who had lost their little boy were two rows down from them. The Reverend Alston was a kindly old man. He'd been through all the upheaval of the past, seen too many things for anything to really surprise him, but he smiled genuinely when he saw Jenny and Isobel at the back. The young mother saw his reaction, and turned her head slightly, on seeing Jenny; she stared blankly at her for a long moment, before turning her eyes to the pulpit again. Jenny tightened her hold on Isobel's hand. The sermon seemed to be going on for longer than ever that day, she thought. The Reverend seemed to be making a point of how God forgave little lies, the kind that were said to spare someone's feelings, but that He knew the secrets of everyone's hearts...so for that, thought Jenny, he'll let you away with the _little_ things, but there's always a price in the end. She gave a little smile at that, religion, always so certain. Never a shade of grey. She closed her eyes and drifted away.

_"God...if you exist...tell me what to do. I know I'm not exactly your favourite person...I can't be...but...I know I'm lost...but don't take it out on Isobel...'suffer the little children to come unto me', please..."_ She felt a nudge. Isobel was looking at her strangely. The congregation was standing; the final prayer was being said.

"Peace be with you." If only, she thought. She waited with Isobel whilst everyone filed out. The young mother pulled her skirt away as she passed, as though she was afraid of even touching the hem of Jenny's skirt. Her husband smiled, a little embarrassed perhaps, as he led her away. The Burnett's were more welcoming, Jenny promised to look in on them the next day. Finally the Reverend had said goodbye to the last of his flock, and came back inside, rubbing his hands.

"A cold day, indeed." Jenny nodded her head.

"That it is, Reverend Alston." He smiled at her, then looked down kindly at a fidgety Isobel.

"Why don't you go and play in the churchyard, Isobel?" She looked up at him, doubtfully.

"Won't _they_ mind?" She had one eye on the headstones. He smiled again.

"Oh, I don't think so, Isobel. If you play quietly..." She looked over to her mother, who said;

"Stay close Isobel. I want to see what you're doing..." She was pale, thought the Reverend.

"You do not attend as often as you should," his tone was gently chastising. It was said with a smile though. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten the way..." She smiled back politely.

She was educated, thought the Reverend. Lord knew where she had come from, but her healing skills had come in very useful in recent months. She could actually heal, unlike the heathen, whisper it, _'witches',_ nearby. He had already heard mutterings about the 'incomer' taking the bread from their mouths. Superstition and curses, never a good combination. She wasn't an actual member of his church, but he'd given her communion when she came the last time. Jenny waited patiently for the Reverend to get to the point, walking up to the altar beside him.

"I will be retiring soon." That didn't surprise her, he was a good age, the lines on his face were etched deep, but she didn't let on, saying instead;

"Do reverends retire?" He smiled back.

"The lucky ones do," he said softly, his eyes on the pulpit. He turned his attention back to her. She was nervous about something, he could tell, something was bothering her, but she wouldn't speak.

"I got your note." The other reason she was here, and seeing as how God was seemingly deaf to her prayers...She circled him in the quiet of the church, one eye on the open door. His breathing was laboured. "Your chest sounds crackly..." He looked at her curiously.

"Your professional opinion?" She smiled at that.

"Hardly a professional...you coughed as you said the Lord's Prayer." She stepped closer, putting her ear to his back, listening to his raspy breathing. "It sounds like the left side of your chest."

"You can tell that without poking and prodding me? The physician couldn't..."

She didn't say that she could somehow see what looked like lumps in his chest...no way of explaining that one away rationally...

"I've got a liquorice and honey mixture, might help with that cough you've got..."

"But not for long I think..." He said it without any anger. He had lived a long life, it was time.

She looked at him, suddenly serious. She saw a quiet, but short retirement for him. A peaceful green valley. He dies in his sleep. She blinked it away, a little upset by the scene. She could see Isobel framed in the arch of the door, picking wildflowers among the headstones.

"You're worried about something, aren't you?" His old, rheumy eyes were focused on her face, she seemed miles away. "I'm very old," She laughed nervously at that, "but I've seen a lot of life in my time. I know you...ran from something..."

Her head snapped up at that. She knew he had her down as some rich man's mistress; the gossip about the sale of the cottage had clearly not changed his mind.

"I don't know what you ran from...it's not my business...but you're troubled...what is..."

You have no idea, thought Jenny. Her fingers were tracing absent-mindedly over the open Bible on the altar. Oh well, might as well get it out of the way, she thought.

"Do you believe, Reverend, that the sins of the fathers, or mothers, are visited on generation after generation...that it doesn't matter how good, how honest or pure-hearted you are...if you make a mistake...even if you don't mean to do it..."

He was looking seriously at her, she was troubled, she was trying to reach out. He pondered his answer for a few moments.

"Are you asking me if I believe in a vengeful God, or a forgiving God?" She looked at him earnestly.

"Are you asking me if God forgives? What could you possibly have done that needs forgiving?" He smiled that kind, compassionate smile at her. She was looking at the one stained glass window in the church. It cast crimson and azure shadows over the altar. She breathed in deeply.

"I failed two people that I loved. I'm scared I'll fail...that I won't be able to protect..." She stopped herself at the sound of Isobel's voice, she was calling for her.

"Oh Isobel," she sighed, "Reverend," she nodded to him and turned to go. The Reverend called after her.

"I'm here for a while yet, if you need to talk...Oh, I've put both your names in the book, you are both members now, apparently I've just accepted you into our faith." She turned back to look at him, slightly intrigued.

"I'm told that my successor will be less forgiving about attendance...and transgressions, for want of a better word..." She lifted her chin, fixing the Reverend with a stern look.

"Thank you for the warning, Reverend. No one will take Isobel away from me, or cast aspersions. I provide for my daughter, we are not a drain on the parish..." Reverend Alston gave her a steady look.

"I didn't mean...I meant that you are a part of this village and a very welcome part...there have been rumours..." Here we go, she thought. For a second, she wondered if someone had seen Wyndam, or the other vampires...

"Oh, really? What rumours?" She brazened it out, the Reverend really didn't want to be the one to ask, and she could tell he was uncomfortable.

"About the cottage...the sale of it..." She drew in her breath. "A family friend bought it, I believe?" She looked him straight in the eye.

"Yes." And that's as much as you're getting out of me, she thought. What was that old saying, she'd heard her mother say? He was fishing, but his hook wasn't long enough...He smiled that kind, benevolent smile that comforted his parishioners.

"Please, if I've offended you, I'm sorry. You are worried about something..."

"Thank you for your interest, Reverend. I'll drop that mixture into you, it should help you." She turned abruptly, her temper rising. She should have known better than to expect anything else. Imagine what he would have said if she'd told him the whole truth, she thought. She was sure the church would be safe for Isobel if she had to run there, despite what Wyndam had said...she'd had her baptised back home, a few coins and she was in God's care...no sitting in disgrace down the front of the congregation for her mother, amazing what a little money could buy...

Reverend Alston watched them go in silence. He knew he had failed her. She stood out, that was the problem. No one knew where she'd come from, her clothes, whilst worn, were fine. The rumours about her were starting up again, that young mother had stirred them up. He'd put a stop to that before he left. The woman was spreading malicious gossip, and that could poison a place. He turned back into the church, not seeing the ruddy-faced man, who had been watching the scene intently.

Wyndam's mood was not improving. And Underwood's sudden appearance was not helping matters.

"Yes, what is it?" Underwood was nervous, unexpected visits to the manor were not encouraged.

"The woman...she went to church..." Wyndam half-smiled at that.

"Did she? Divine intervention...you humans...you always turn to God..." He turned that sharp gaze on Underwood, shaking his head as he did so.

"Never get an answer though..." He stood up and strode over to the door. "Johnson, get my horse." He turned to look at Underwood, who was shifting nervously in his seat.

"And?"

"And what, sir?" The hunger was starting to bite at Wyndam now. He had to hunt soon...

"Well unless she's decided to take holy orders, was there anything else?" His tone was cutting.

"She didn't seem too happy when she left..." Wyndam smiled. She hadn't got the answer she'd been looking for. _Dear Reverend...how do I get away from a six hundred year old vampire...My dear...you don't..._

He gave a loud sigh, and pointed to the ornate ceiling.

"_He_ never listens, Underwood. He's always too busy." He needed to feed again so badly. If he didn't get out now...Underwood would be missing his throat shortly. And capable humans were difficult to find, especially if one kept killing them...

Underwood was twisting his hat between his fingers. He knew he was pushing his luck with Wyndam, but if he didn't tell him what he'd heard and it turned out to be important...

"Mr Wyndam..."

"Yes?" Underwood actually jumped in his seat, Wyndam had moved so fast. He was now standing right beside him, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk. He looked up at his master, then breathed in quickly. He had learnt the hard way that when Wyndam's eyes flashed black, you shut up. If you were a human or a vampire, it made no difference. That was the warning sign. Pull your hand in...

"There are rumours...in the village...sir..." The black eyes were still there, if anything they sharpened on Underwood's now bright-red face.

"What kind of rumours, Underwood?" He looked away from Wyndam, the fear that one day he would not get to walk out of the door, and back to his family reared its head...

"You are trying my patience, Underwood. One of these days that may well happen, but until then..." He said it quietly, but the warning was there.

"Of course, sir. There are rumours about the...lady...in the village...about the cottage...how she can afford to..." Wyndam cut him off tersely.

"I thought I told you to deal with any problems discreetly? What about that man, Burnett?"

Underwood drew himself up stiffly. _Ah_, thought Wyndam, you don't like him. That probably meant he was an honest man, who could see straight through Underwood. He chuckled to himself.

"I'm sure a quiet word in Mr Burnett's ear, about mischief-making among his tenants, would have the desired effect...and if that doesn't work, I'm sure you will remind his Lordship of what will happen if the lady comes to any harm...what can be given, can be taken away just as easily..." He turned towards the window. Dusk was nearly here. Time to hunt. "The lady wants a quiet life, and to be left alone. She is causing no harm to anyone. Remind him of my exact words, Underwood." Johnson knocked and opened the door quickly. Wyndam merely nodded at him.

"Remind me, Underwood, how old is your son?" The question threw Underwood.

"Seventeen...sir..." he stammered. Wyndam's eyes were bright blue again.

"It will soon be time for him to enter the family trade, I think."

Underwood's heart began to quicken even more; Wyndam could practically smell his fear. A little smile played on his lips.

"Perhaps we can wait a little longer..." He didn't ask after Underwood's daughters, the man would probably have collapsed, he thought dryly. He gestured to Underwood, who gladly took his leave. He waited a few moments, thinking over what had been said. His money was on the baby's mother. Grief did strange things to humans, and vampires alike. It could destroy them, but it could also twist itself into an ugly, bitter hate that fed on itself. And that was usually the most harmful kind. A gentle reminder to Jenny, to keep herself to herself, Harper would be the best one to pass the message on. Wait for the anger of grief to cool. That, or remove the problem...if it became necessary...There was that dark, little voice jabbing away again. He picked up his gloves and walked slowly out into the hall. The door stood open. Johnson was standing anxiously beside a tightly-wound black horse, it kept pawing at the ground, throwing its head back as it did so. Wyndam smiled, amused at Johnson's discomfort.

"He doesn't bite, Johnson. At least, I've never seen him do it." He took the reins from Johnson, patting the horse's muzzle. Some of the tension left the horse, it knew its master. He mounted the horse and turned away without speaking. Johnson watched him ride away enviously. If he wasn't mistaken, Wyndam was off on a hunt. The lucky bugger...

The horse stopped, force of habit, at the turning for Whitekirk. Wyndam leant forward, and whispered in its ear, "Not tonight," and tugged the horse's head away. He had a long ride to Manchester in mind. An anonymous hunt. Pick a human or two, search them out of a crowd, then cut them down. Let the darkness rage, let it have its fill...

**MANCHESTER**

Wyndam rode past the Black Bull Inn. It was shut fast. His eyes glittered darkly as he surveyed the scene. People were walking past, their eyes on the ground.

"Did you hear about...?"

"I know, it's terrible..."

"Their throats were all...cut up..."

"They crossed someone...mark my words..."

He smiled that cruel smile. A job well done. He would have to congratulate Harper and Carter on their handiwork. That, and send a message to Judith. "You owe me a favour, Madam..." He'd enjoy having that haughty woman dancing to his tune, the anticipation would drive her mad. Might be a year, or a hundred, but he would collect the debt...

He had killed already, on the road tonight. A passing traveller, on a flea-bitten grey pony. Not exactly a challenge, but it eased the hunger for a while. The man had been exhausted, but managed to throw a good punch at him, before Wyndam dragged him from his saddle, throwing him to the ground in a black-eyed temper. He had barely struggled as Wyndam fed from him. He didn't wait around for the man's spirit to appear, instead he closed the wound on the man's neck, a little trick, one of many learned over so many years, and pulled his body into the dank ditch beside the rough-hewn road. He stood, wiping the man's blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He walked slowly over to the man's pony; it stood grazing tufts of grass, oblivious to the death of its master. He loosened the poor saddle, and cut one of the straps. An everday accident, a stumbling pony, a fall...

Wyndam chose his 'real' victim with much more care. He'd seen the man around the drinking dens of Manchester; he remembered him well, he'd had the nerve to cheat Wyndam at cards once. The man's name was Bethell. He might have been blood drunk, but not that drunk that his sharp eyes hadn't picked up the card passing under the table. He'd been in a good mood too, the woman had tasted so sweet, he had taken his time, enjoying the drawing out of her life, draining her slowly, keeping the night warm with her blood. He'd sat her at the back of the tavern, the darkness covering his dark deeds very well. He unhooked the woman's arm from around his neck.

"I think I've tired her out...some women really can't handle their drink..." He'd winked at the man behind the counter. The answering smile was understanding.

"I'll just take her upstairs, let her sleep it off." Good luck with_ that,_ thought Wyndam. His face was still half-hidden in the dark.

"I'm in the mood to lose some money. I'm assuming there's a card game somewhere tonight?" The man smiled wearily.

"Oh yes, sir. Downstairs. The cellar. I'd watch Bethell though," he put his hand to his mouth, and whispered, "he's good, but a bit quick-fingered, if you know what I mean..."

Wyndam sat at the table, three players opposite him. He didn't ask who was who, preferring to work it out for himself. He won a few hands, lost a couple. It didn't take long to spot Bethell, and his quick-fingers. The sad thing was he was a fine player, with no real need to cheat. Wyndam let it go, as the others left the game. He even helped Bethell collect his winnings, putting them in his pocket, slapping him on the back, before throwing him hard against the wall, pinning him there.

"I admire your gall," he hissed, "but I warn you, if I ever see you in Manchester again, I will kill you, Mr Bethell..." He'd let the man see his black eyes and fangs before releasing him. Bethell stumbled backwards, his hands reaching out desperately for the stairs...

Bethell wasn't hard to find. Some humans never took a telling, thought Wyndam. He left his horse at a stable, he knew the owner well, another northern vampire. He saw Bethell strutting down the High Street, bragging; "So easy tonight, luck is smiling on me, my friend..." Wyndam followed him, through one jostling crowd after another, never losing sight of him. The predator, using those finely-honed skills, to cut through the swirling mass of humanity around him. He sat in a corner of each tavern Bethell entered, his hunger building, as he watched the man who had thrown his advice back in his face. The rage was seething up too, the dark little voice was whispering; "Yes...now you're listening...his last game..."

He again cut through the evening crowds, following Bethell into the last tavern. This time he sat at the bar, and watched him closely. He waved the bar-keeper away, his keen gaze never leaving Bethell's face. A red-haired woman was draped over him, pawing him lazily, a fake 'working' smile on her face. Wyndam smiled knowingly at the woman. She winked back, the black gleam in her eye for just a second. A familiar face...

"I'll just get us another drink, my sweet," she drawled, sounding more drunk than she was. Bethell hit her on the backside.

"Don't be long, girl! Lady Luck's my lass tonight!"

The woman sidled up to Wyndam, who took her in his arms, swinging her gently from side to side, stroking her neck, his mouth to her ear, all the while keeping his eyes on Bethell. He whispered in her ear;

"A little game?" The woman laughed out loud. She whispered back;

"A bet, Mr Wyndam?" He smiled, the sharpness was there. Black eyes met black eyes. He let her go a little reluctantly, kissing her hand. She took the fresh drinks back to the table, and resumed her pawing of Bethell. The game continued. Bethell laid his last cards down on the rough wooden table.

"My hand, I think..." He pulled the winnings towards him with an arrogantly smug grin on his face. Oh, thought Wyndam, I'm going to enjoy this...

The customers drifted away; finally Bethell and the woman were left to themselves. Only a few humans were left in the room, they soon made their way out. Bethell was drunk, but not that drunk. He finally saw Wyndam, sitting silently at the bar. He must have been watching him all through the game...he had to have been...he'd warned him...if he ever saw him again...Bethell swallowed, nervously. Wyndam glared at him, raised a finger to point at him, and shook his head. Bethell looked round for anyone to help, but the room was now empty, bar Wyndam and the woman. Bethell threw her aside roughly, and ran for the door. The woman stumbled, trying to get to her feet, a look of rage in her eyes.

"Wait," was all Wyndam said. She stayed where she was. He stood up and walked slowly over to the table. He reached out for the woman's hand to help her up.

"No manners, Ella, whatever will we _do_ with him?" She smiled up at him, a genuine one this time.

"A head-start, sir?" They both sat down at the bar, side by side. The bar-keeper appeared again.

"Oh, I think so. It's only fair." The cruel smile was there. Ella lifted a watch from her skirts. They both sat looking at the watch she had taken from Bethell's pockets when he'd slapped her backside. Wyndam smiled at her cheek, Louisa did pick her recruits well. He spoke first, a sly grin on his features.

"Time's up." She dashed for the door, her skirts flying in her hurry. Wyndam sat, and gestured for the bar-keeper to pour him a glass of brandy, a bewildered look was on the other man's face.

"What just..." Wyndam smiled benignly.

"Women, my friend, women...never scorn them..." he leaned forward, and whispered, "They have a nasty habit of biting back..." He downed the glass, and made a show of looking at the watch.

"I'd better see what she's up to...woman out on her own, this time of night..." He sighed, dramatically. The bar-keeper shook his head, tonight was a strange one, he thought.

Wyndam was savouring the thrill of the hunt. If he couldn't beat Ella, he might as well have his fangs pulled out. He found Bethell easily, toying with him, enjoying the fear he would soon taste. The man ran down one dark street after another, trying in vain to escape his fate. One last turning took him into a brick-lined corner. Bethell turned in desperation, his eyes wide with terror, knowing Wyndam was behind him. The face he saw was devoid of any emotion. The black eyes stared soullessly into his.

"I warned you. You did not listen. Such a human failing..."

Bethell tried to rush Wyndam, hoping to surprise him, but Wyndam grabbed his throat, and smashed his head against the wall. The man fought back, but he couldn't get far from the vampire's strength, his feet kept slipping from under him, then he felt Wyndam's fangs tear into his neck, the vampire's anger spurring him on; Bethell's struggling only intensifying the hunger for his blood. He didn't make it a kind killing, or a quick one. He felt Bethell's body finally go limp against the wall, he'd taken every last drop of his blood. He let the body fall to the ground, as he heard the clattering of heels behind him.

"Ella, my dear, you really are slacking..." He reached down to take Bethell's winnings from his body. He handed the purse to the other vampire, who was holding her sides, trying to catch her breath.

"But I lost, sir."

"Not tonight, Ella." She took the money though, he thought.

"Your cloak, please." She gave it without question. He smiled at her; he hadn't seen her for a few years.

"What are you doing here, Ella? I thought Simon was taking care of you? Where is he?" He bent down to cover Bethell's body with the cloak, then he offered his hand to Ella, who gave him a slightly bashful look, but she took his hand anyway. They started walking away, all thoughts of the man lying dead, gone. He did not matter.

"London's not very happy with him. We came north. He killed someone; _we_ killed someone," she admitted, "someone a bit too noticeable..."

"Ella..." his tone was admonishing.

"I know, Mr Wyndam..." she pulled her features into something resembling regret, "I thought if we came north..."

"I'd be more forgiving?" The sly smile was back. He was remembering the mole at the bottom of her back. He'd had a very good time with her in London, not long after she was made. They had torn through the seamier sights, a brief bloody fling of madness. Before the regrets had started to seep into her conscience. It usually did with new recruits; it was only a matter of time. If they were meant to last, they did. She'd come through it though, seemed happy enough with Simon, from what he'd heard, anyway. She stopped at a smart, timber house, set back a little from the street. They were doing well, he thought. She turned, the comely smile beaming.

"Old times' sake, sir?" He smiled a little ruefully. She pursed her lips, tilting her head to one side, regarding him closely.

"You've got your plotting face on. You've got your eye on someone, Mr Wyndam..." His eyes light up, in mock surprise.

"But for what, Ella?" She smiled, a little savagely, the little fangs just showing.

"Simon's not here. He's been called to York..."

The invitation was obvious, a little too obvious for his taste, but...she was a very pleasant diversion...for a while...He took the hand she offered.

"For old times' sake, Ella."


	12. Chapter 12

**Apologies for the late arrival of this chapter to anyone still reading! This was due to RL, Being Human starting again, and a character who went off for a sulk...In this chapter a little diversion is dealt with, a new recruit, of sorts, is found, and someone's going on a little trip...oh and the bit about snow was written before the naming of Mr Snow in S4...**

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"Who is Jenny?"

Daylight had a way of clearing the mind beautifully. Wyndam sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the looking glass. Why did some vampires keep mirrors? It couldn't be vanity; they were useless from the moment you were turned. Once a male vampire became used to the absence of a reflection, they usually found ways of getting around it. You became very adept at shaving after the first few bloody attempts, if you didn't want to keep slitting your own throat, and female vampires, well, frankly, that was one of the eternal mysteries he really couldn't be bothered with. Some said they replaced mirrors with water and burnished copper bowls, others swore by plain glass and candlelight. In the larger cities, where anonymity could be more cheaply bought, some enterprising vampires had started up as barbers, looking after the very particular needs of their clientele. Most were tacked on to vampire-run taverns, a small room through the back, an eye on the ready money his kind always needed. And a very useful way of keeping an eye on everyone too...

He looked closely at the flaking gold-leaf around the mirror, then back into the empty glass. It was one of the strangest things about becoming a vampire, that lack of reflection. He'd known some recruits who never got over the simple shock of seeing nothing staring back at you, the emptiness set in a frame. After so many years, you started to forget what you looked like. Wyndam often wondered if that was one of the darkness' little gifts to its children, to ease what little remnants of a soul that might be left in there, to hide any traces of evil...It had been so strange to see himself in Jenny's blood, he looked so much younger than he felt, he didn't look like the cold, aloof Old One he was meant to be. Surely all those deaths, so much blood and so many souls, had left their mark on his face?

He felt Ella's hand on his back, and tensed immediately. There'd been no spark there...a pleasant time, but nothing more. He'd refused adamantly to let her feed from him, and turned away everytime she tried to entice him to take her blood in return. It was too intimate; she was a diversion, nothing more. The first thing he had done on waking was to check his skin for bite marks. She wasn't old enough, or cute enough, to know how to close wounds, but she was cunning. Thankfully, he'd found no wounds. He turned to look at her. She was propped against the silk pillows, contemplating him sleepily with those hazel eyes.

"You've dressed already, Wyndam." He noticed she had dropped the Mr.

"Yes, Ella." He gazed at her in the morning sun. Her long red hair lay loose over her shoulders, her painted face that had looked so welcoming and so vital the night before, now looked smudged and a little hard. He stroked her shoulder, then her arm, then he turned back to the looking glass.

"You have my forgiveness. I wouldn't advise you to go south for a while, though. Let London calm down." He was just about to leave when she said;

"Who is Jenny?"

It was said innocently enough, but it sliced through him. He froze. Ella teased, not knowing the danger.

"Is she the one you've got your eye on, Wyndam?"

She couldn't see his face, the way it tightened.

"Come on, you can tell me..." Her tone was so playful, as though she was teasing an old friend. She leaned into him, snaking an arm round him, speaking softly into his ear;

"You said her name in your sleep...who is she?" She couldn't see the cold look of determination that crossed his face, or the darkening eyes...

"I won't tell..." she teased mercilessly, her eyes gleaming with intrigue, not realising that he wasn't answering her. Or how still he had become.

"Oh, Ella..." He caught hold of her arm, stroking it so gently. "No, you _won't..."_

He threw her back on the bed, only then did she realise the danger. Her own eyes flashed black, and the natural vampire instinct to survive kicked in, but in vain. She never even saw the stake coming, her lips formed just one word; "Why?" before she crumbled to dust.

"For _her_, that's why." He said it aloud, the first acknowledgement. Bella Ella...she never could hold her tongue. That had been a mistake, alright, he thought. How much had he said in his sleep? He looked at the dust now lying on the bed, no emotions came to him. A bright young vampire had lain there only seconds before. He had been right to end her, he couldn't take the risk.

He would have to wait for Simon to return, there could be no loose ends. He had been a promising vampire too, just the right mixture of brain and hunger, might well have lasted...He pulled the bedcovers over the dust, and walked back down the stairs. He sat waiting for Simon in the dark front room. An hour had gone past when he heard a key in the lock.

"Ella, where are you? It's alright, Mr Reade says..." Wyndam could hear a snuffling, sobbing sound, and a frightened heartbeat.

"Oh be quiet! It'll be over soon enough. If your mother had wanted you, she wouldn't have handed you over...I've a little present for you, Ella, my sweet...where are you?"

He could hear Simon walking about the house; the floorboards were creaking above his head.

"I know you said you could get Wyndam on side no bother, but I thought I'd..."

The door opened. Simon dropped the bundle he was carrying; a small child rolled out of the bag.

"Mr Wyndam..." Simon stuttered his name. Wyndam kept his eyes on the terrified child, who stayed rooted to the spot.

"London really isn't happy, Simon..." he was sitting so calmly. Simon moved forward, raising his hands.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know you were...we made a mistake...I...Ella's still quite young, she didn't know the man had been marked out...where is Ella, sir?" He was turning nervously round, wondering where on earth the woman could have got to. She was normally back waiting for him, even if she'd been out hunting...

Wyndam didn't answer him; instead he spoke to the boy.

"Child, there is a room at the top of the stairs. Go there, and wait until I come for you."

The little boy nodded, his eyes wide, all sobbing stopped, then he ran for the stairs. Only then did Wyndam turn his attention to Simon, who now had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as to why the house was empty.

"Where is Ella...Mr Wyndam?" The Old One's face was expressionless.

"Ended." Simon let out a horrified groan.

"Why?"

"Her tongue, Simon, and her inability to keep from killing the wrong people. London demanded it, I merely..."

"Since when does _Edgar_ Wyndam do what London says?" The anger was growing in the younger vampire, his hand was itching to go for his sword. "You Old Ones...you always think you are right...you are untouchable..."

"Careful, Simon," warned Wyndam, his eyes narrowing.

"You had no right!" insisted Simon.

"I had every right," said Wyndam arrogantly, "she told me all about it. You went after a Duke's son, Simon; they are missed if they disappear. He was to be turned, not killed outright. You've cost us a fortune, the one that was lost, and the one it's taken to cover it up, and more than that, the pair of you risked our exposure, so yes, I had that right..."

Simon's face changed, the shock of loss was there now.

"But you...she said..."

"What, because I bedded her twenty years ago, I'd be a soft touch? She wasn't _that_ good in bed, Simon..."

The younger vampire lunged at Wyndam, drawing his sword, but Wyndam was quicker, his own blade had sliced up at Simon's throat, he managed to stand for a few seconds, before the blood loss dropped him like a stone. Wyndam kicked Simon's sword away, then threw his own sword down. The younger vampire stared up at him, a gurgling sound was all he could make, the blow had been deep, but not deep enough to sever his head. Wyndam looked down, his face glacial, his black eyes shining.

"I was at Hastings...I was part of the Crusades...all those crosses...and I...did you really think you could beat me in a fair fight? You disappoint me Simon; I thought you were made of better stuff."

He knelt down, opening the ties on Simon's shirt. Simon knew what was coming, his eyes were flickering with fear, his own end was near…

"I will make it quick, Simon. I could have locked you away somewhere, let you exist like this, for daring to attack an Old One...but I am not really in the mood. Whatever we become, wherever we go, when we leave this blood-soaked life, you will soon know...I almost envy you that..."

He pulled the stake from his pocket, the same stake he'd used to kill Ella.

"You'll be with her soon, Simon."

He plunged the stake down hard into Simon's chest. As his face crumbled, the fear gave way to a look of release. Wyndam stood, his eyes focused on the ceiling. The only witness left. He gathered up the pile of clothes that was all that remained of Simon, and threw them in a heap of laundry in the scullery, then he slowly climbed the stairs.

Stephen Underwood sat in his fine, comfortable chair, in his fine book-lined office, the profits of serving an Old One, comfort and riches. The downside, losing your soul, bit by bit, as you carried out their instructions, looking the other way when it suited, and waiting for the day to come when you were no longer useful to them...

A bundle landed on his desk. He could see a pair of green eyes poking through a mop of brown hair. He looked up to see Wyndam looking down at him, a bemused smile on his face.

"A new start, for the family firm, Underwood. I'm sure you can find him something to do. He'll need feeding up first, though." He threw a bag of money down beside the boy; Bella Ella's winnings would be used wisely.

"What...what will I do with him?" Underwood blustered, but the venal man reached out his hand for the money all the same, thought Wyndam.

"I've just accepted him into my service. I thought he deserved a second chance. Look after him Underwood. Where I found him...your youngest could have met the same intended fate..." The human looked down at that, how many had Wyndam...He knew the vampire's eyes were narrowing...hold your tongue. He glanced at the boy instead.

"What is your name, child?" The boy looked unsure.

"His name is Benjamin," said Wyndam.

"No last name, Benjamin?"

"Not where he came from, Underwood." Wyndam had a pretty good idea just where the boy had come from, too. He would be having 'words' with a certain madam in York, one who had a nice sideline in 'disappearing' her women's children. You threw the little ones back, that was the rule. Only on very _rare_ occasions…was that rule broken…Underwood was still perplexed, staring as though the child was a rare specimen, which he was in a way, his master rarely showed mercy. His face was amusing Wyndam no end.

"Treat him as if he were your own child, Underwood. I will be very…unhappy…if anything were to happen to him." He nodded at the boy, his hands behind his back. "Goodbye, Benjamin." With that, he left Underwood and the boy alone. Benjamin turned round to look at Underwood.

"Who was that?" Underwood looked to the child, still trying to work out what had just happened.

"That was Edgar Wyndam, Benjamin. And he is the strangest…man…you will ever meet…" In this life or the next, he thought to himself…

Jenny had spent the day with the Burnett's. Mrs Burnett seemed weaker to her, no amount of smiles could hide the pain Jenny could feel in the older woman. Isobel was loping around after the woman, making her mother smile; a born nurse in the making. Mr Burnett took her aside.

"She's worse, isn't she?" Jenny smiled sadly.

"I can't do anything for her. The pain…I can increase the amount of the tincture, but…" Burnett looked away, out of the window.

"Will she make it to Christmas? She has cousins coming. We don't have children; they're the closest to…" She looked deeply at the older woman, she was trying to pull an image of her future out, it didn't always work but…she couldn't see anything for the woman…then she could see something…snow…there was blood on the snow…she felt so woozy…then everything went black…

She came to with Isobel and Burnett looking down at her, and a dog licking her hand.

"Mum you just went…whoosh!" cried Isobel. "Did you crack your head?" Jenny was still light-headed.

"Oh my brains will fall out if I did, sweetheart." Burnett helped her up, and moved her gently over to a chair.

"Have you eaten anything today, Miss? You're no good to anyone, if you're not well yourself."

She took a cup of ale from him, catching sight of her wrist when her sleeve fell back. The wound was still there, the two punctures, small, but still noticeable. She hoped Burnett hadn't seen them. Why hadn't the bite marks, his bite marks healed?

"You are staying for some food? Isobel's already made her mind up…" Burnett shrugged his head at Isobel, who was playing with the dog by the fire. She was getting paler by the day, he thought. The Reverend had spoken to him about the young couple; wouldn't it be better for them to have a fresh start somewhere else? Move them on, then there would be less gossip about the woman and her child. So far the young wife wasn't for budging, they were local, and why should they move…As far as Burnett was concerned, Jenny had done nothing wrong, but the whispers were having an effect on her, a small place like this…

Jenny and Isobel finally started to walk back to the cottage. The light was fading now.

"The noise when you hit the floor, Mum…" Jenny just smiled, she was so tired.

"And Mr Wyndam said I was to look after you, too…" Jenny stopped short.

"When did he say that?" Isobel clamped her mouth shut, hoping that her mother wouldn't spot it. She took a deep breath.

"When you were poorly…after he was poorly…he said I was to look after you…he would keep you safe, but I was to look after you too…when he wasn't here…" She didn't look up at her mother, she didn't need to know what she'd seen…she would only worry herself…

"What else did he say, Isobel?" Jenny said it quietly, hoping her daughter wouldn't see how nervous she was.

"He said you were very special." Isobel skipped as she said it, as though it were a wonderful secret.

"Of course I am, Isobel, I'm your mother." Jenny dropped down to hug her daughter. "Come on it's getting late." She could see a shape in the trees, he's still having me watched, she thought. It looked like the vampire Harper had called Jacob, what was his full name, Jacob Carter, that was his name. He didn't acknowledge her; instead he pulled back into the trees. If Isobel saw him, she didn't mention it. That was the strangest part of it all; Isobel seemed to be taking everything in her stride, as though everything was perfectly normal.

The door of the cottage was knocked at ten the next morning. Jenny opened the door to find Harper standing there, a bound pile of books in one hand, a letter in the other. They are getting bolder, she thought; they are here in broad daylight. She could see Jacob Carter standing in front of the trees now; he was leaning lazily against the rowan tree. Harper looked concerned.

"Jacob said you weren't well yesterday, Miss?" Her eyes flashed over Carter, who looked away quickly.

"And how would he know that?" She had fainted in the Burnett's house, not on the way back. Harper shifted his feet. He really didn't want to tell her that vampires could pick out the sick or the vulnerable, and Jacob was sure that the woman wasn't well.

"We have to keep an eye on you…he said you weren't…" he trailed off, as Jenny opened the letter, reading its contents hastily. Her face turned frosty. Harper glanced at her eyes, fire was spitting in them.

"You can tell Mr Wyndam, I do not appreciate being followed so closely, I need to breathe, I need to…I will do as he requests, for now, but you can tell him I am not happy." Harper smiled uncertainly. Jenny looked at him; some of her anger left her. It wasn't his fault. He was only doing as he'd been instructed.

"What is he up to, Mr Harper?" She asked him seriously. Harper shrugged.

"I don't know, Miss. I've never known him to...He wants you to stay here," he looked cautiously at Carter, who was trying, and failing miserably, to look as though he wasn't listening in.

"We aren't to talk about you...I know it's difficult, but I think you have to just trust him..." he dropped his voice, "If he wanted to harm you...he would have done so by now...he...tends to kill and move on..." Jacob let out a very loud cough. Harper straightened. "I don't know what he wants with you, Miss, just don't cross him. He can be very fair when he wants to be, but..." He turned away. Carter's face said it all.

"You've said too much James." Harper waved him away.

"I'm doing what he wants, Jacob."

Jenny went back inside. Isobel was tugging at the logs by the fire. She came over to the table, as Jenny laid the pile of books down. She scuffed her daughter's head, Isobel just laughed.

"What's that?" Isobel was peering at the books, opening pages in a few of them. "Ooh that's horrible..." Jenny caught her hand, the books he'd sent her were more medical texts, the one Isobel was so engrossed in, had detailed drawings of dissections. A little too clearly detailed for Isobel.

"That's what you look like inside, Isobel." Jenny said it patiently, and pulled the book away from her. Isobel screwed up her face.

"Ugh!" Jenny smiled, but a thought had crossed her mind. Wyndam hadn't told Harper, or the others, about her abilities. She tried to remember if he'd discussed them in front of the other vampires, or even in front of Isobel, and she was positive that he hadn't. She wasn't sure if it was significant or not, but he had to have a reason for it. He appeared to be keeping her abilities, and her existence, a secret. Maybe he was protecting them after all...

They spent the next few days quietly in the cottage, Jenny resting a bit more than she usually did, and Isobel fussing round her like a mother hen. Jenny used the time to pour over the new books Wyndam had sent her, and trying to work out what he wanted from her. He was looking for something; he'd been testing her abilities with those objects, and digging into her memories. She had seen that flash of something distant when he'd let her into his own memories, he'd been surprised that she could do that, the vampire nature had asserted itself, she knew that they had both been lucky to survive that night. She was learning to judge his moods, to know when to push, and when to draw back. Her wrist itched again. Jenny had never known a wound like it. She and Isobel had finished their breakfast one morning, when they heard the sound of horses outside. No one had been near the place in days, apart from her watchers, who were still keeping their distance. Jenny opened the door to find Wyndam standing on the doorstep, a wry grin on his face.

"I was told you were unwell. It would appear I was misinformed." He looked behind him. Harper was standing by the garden gate with three horses. "You're a little pale, perhaps, but we'll soon sort that." Isobel was beside her mother in an instant.

"Hello Isobel. Have you been looking after your mother, as I asked you to?"

"Yes, sir. I made her put her feet up." Oh Isobel, you are too trusting, thought Jenny. Then she remembered her thoughts weren't quite her own...There was the dark smile on his face.

"Good, but I'm thinking you could both do with a little fresh air, a change of scenery..."

Jenny's fingers tightened on Isobel's shoulders. Wyndam noticed it, then turned his gaze on Jenny's face.

"I'm hoping your mother will help me with something, a little test..." Here it comes, thought Jenny, raising her chin. Wyndam just smiled. He raised his hands slightly, no harm intended. She wasn't going to make it easy for him. In all honesty, why should she, he had very nearly killed her the last time they'd met.

"You're not even slightly interested, Jenny?" The questioning look was there.

"With what, Wyndam?" She was scanning his features, he had more colour in his face than the last time. He's fed, she thought, not really wanting to know who had...

"A little trip, more a little ride. Somewhere not far from here. There and back in an hour, two at the most. The air will do you good, the pair of you...what do you say?"

Jenny could see Harper's face, it showed none of the concern of the other day, he was smiling warmly. Wyndam broke into a grin.

"Come on, a little ride, you've been complaining that you feel a little...restricted..." He was tempting her, she knew. He'd caught her interest, what was he up to now?.

"You'll both get back in one piece, I promise you." The sly smile was there. "Not a drop spilt..." he whispered, his blue eyes gleaming.

"Or taken?" She countered, keeping her eyes on his. He chuckled.

"I promise." She looked for any hint of deceit.

"No tricks, Wyndam?" His smile vanished. His face turned serious.

"You have my word. No tricks. I will bring you both back myself." He bowed his head, one hand over his heart.

"I need...to..." she tried to stall him.

"Come on...it's not like you're doing anything...a little ride...blow the cobwebs away..." he was eager for her to say yes, that was clear.

"If it makes you happy, put a Bible in Isobel's hands. It won't work on me; it'll be a bit unfair on Harper though..." His lips hadn't moved. She let out a short breath. He smiled. Alright, she thought, if that's the way he wanted to play it. She didn't speak; she directed her thoughts at him.

"Why should I trust you?" He smiled in return.

"You are still breathing, Jenny. I keep my word. I won't harm you or Isobel." He looked back at Harper, then he spoke aloud.

"I want to take you somewhere, to show you something. I want your honest opinion, no ulterior motive..." her eyes flashed at that, "just your opinion, given your particular abilities..." he said the last few words only in his mind. Her eyes never left his. He was the first to look away, down at Isobel, who was eyeing the horses.

"Inside, Isobel. Now." Her daughter protested, but Jenny pushed her back inside, pulling the door over behind her. Wyndam was still smiling, if anything the smile was wider.

"I understand that you will not want to leave Isobel here alone, she will be perfectly safe, the ride isn't far, and I know that you would rather she was with you, than with anyone else..."

Oh and then you have the two of us exactly where you want us...she thought. He sighed, shaking his head.

"I thought we'd got past this. Why must you always make things difficult for yourself? Jenny, if I wanted to grab you both, do you really think you could stop me?" He said it matter-of-fact, there was no threat there. He continued, dropping his voice.

"I trusted you with my memories, and now I'm asking for your trust, and your help. I will not bite..." he leant forward, his most open smile.

"Yes..." said Jenny. Wyndam blinked; surprised it had only taken a little gentle persuasion.

"No hesitation? What...no I have something more pressing to do...like darning _stockings?"_ She smiled in spite of herself.

"Do you want us to come or don't you? Isobel, come here." She opened the door to find Isobel already wearing her little cloak.

"A moment, Wyndam." Jenny pushed her daughter back into the cottage and closed the door firmly behind them.

"What have I told you Isobel, about curiosity?" Isobel looked down guiltily at her boots.

"It did something to a cat, Mum...but we don't have a cat..." Jenny let out an exasperated groan.

"Oh child..." She slipped her hand under Isobel's cloak. She could feel the little cross around her daughter's neck. "You keep that on, Isobel, I'm serious..." She dashed to the book shelves, picking out the Bible that she'd tested Underwood with, and found a drawstring bag to put it in.

If I'm wrong, she thought, I'm signing our death warrant. He wants something from me...I need to find out what...

She took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, then she grabbed a wrap of cheese and some bread, and put them in the bag, along with the Bible, and a small knife, and handed the bag to Isobel.

"Make yourself useful, you can carry that, Isobel." She pulled her own cloak on, taking Isobel's hand, and kneeling down.

"If I'm making a mistake sweetheart, I'm sorry." Her other hand was shaking as she stroked her daughter's face. Isobel glanced at her mother, a wide grin on her face.

"It's only Mr Wyndam, Mother. It'll be like the meal things you told me about, after hunts..."

Yes Isobel, she thought, but one where we could end up being the meal...

She opened the door to find Wyndam standing down at the garden gate. You were that sure I'd agree, you arrogant...He called back to her;

"No time like the present. The sooner we go, the sooner we get back. Harper, hold that horse steady."

They had reached the gate, to find Harper leading up the most beautiful dapple grey horse. Jenny didn't need to look at her daughter's face; she could feel her eyes go wide.

"Isobel, close your mouth. The horse doesn't want to look at your teeth; it's got enough of its own." She sighed, then looked down at her daughter. "I worry about you, child, a flashy horse and you just melt." Wyndam leant down to Isobel and whispered;

"Your grandmother was the same, that's how she met your grandfather...or so rumour has it..."

He got a flash of Jenny's temper for a second; the look she gave him was bone dry. Isobel's natural inquisitiveness picked it up.

"You knew my grandmother, Mr Wyndam?"

"Not really, Isobel. I saw her once..." Jenny's eyes sharpened, she doesn't know any of it, don't do this Wyndam. Twist me, but not her...His expression softened.

"After you, Madam." He gave Jenny a leg up on to the grey horse, then he lifted Isobel up, telling her to hold on. A dark look passed his eyes; he saw what was in Isobel's hands. She'd slipped the Bible out of the bag to take a look at it.

"Not taking any chances eh, Jenny?"

"It is a Sunday, Wyndam." He raised his eyebrows.

"I was told you were in church last Sunday. Did you find what you were looking for?" Jenny kept silent at that. Didn't think so thought Wyndam, a slight smirk on his face. He reined in his own horse.

"Now are we all happy?" Harper let out a hiss under his breath; he'd caught sight of the gold cross on the cover of the Bible. A little too close for comfort. He managed to turn away just in time, before Isobel could see his full reaction.

"What's wrong with Mr Harper?" inquired Isobel. Wyndam said simply;

"Something disagreed with him." He eyed Harper carefully, then he turned to Jenny.

"I think it would be better inside the bag. You might lose it Isobel. It looks like a family Bible, they are best kept safe." Jenny was looking at him knowingly, question answered. She felt a touch guilty at causing Harper pain, though.

"In fact, Harper, you're really not looking well," said Wyndam, "I think you should go back. I want an answer from Underwood about that matter anyway..."

Harper seemed reluctant to leave, Wyndam's eyes narrowed just slightly.

"Sir..."nodded Harper, and he turned his horse about.

"Now, where were we? This way." Wyndam urged his horse into a trot, and turned eastwards, away from the village, leaving Jenny little choice but to follow.

"Just keep your arms around me, Isobel, it's a long way to fall." Wyndam slowed his horse, and turned.

"Hasn't your mother taught you to ride yet, Isobel? I heard she managed my horse very well."

Oh that was a dig at her poor excuse for an escape, and the enforced return home. Jenny knew exactly what was going through Isobel's mind now, a pony, probably a grey one.

"Don't even think about it Isobel." She told her daughter with a sigh. Wyndam smiled, as he waited for them to catch up.

"No Isobel, I wouldn't want your mother to feel jealous. She'd need to get a horse too," he leaned over his horse's neck, "and I wouldn't want to put temptation in her way. I've a feeling she'd head south and never look back." The blue eyes were shining again.

"Not much chance of that happening is there Wyndam?" she said waspishly.

"Not a hope," replied Wyndam, "I'd bring you back the very next day."

They continued on towards Whalley, then they skirted Pendle Hill. Jenny felt a shiver, and stopped her horse to look up at the summit. She missed the hills back home, this was the only place that came close, near Whitekirk anyway.

"What's the view like, from the top?" asked Jenny. Wyndam continued on, without stopping.

"You can see the Forest of Bowland, then the Irish Sea, from the summit. No time today. It's pointless anyway, there are rainclouds coming in from the west."

"But we could just..." she persisted. He turned his horse.

"No, we couldn't. Tops of hills, mountains, heights, I blame the Crus..." he stopped himself, one wary eye on Isobel. "Holy Land, a tower, a very painful drop, don't ask..." Jenny smiled a very understanding smile.

"Oh I'm amusing you now? See, not such a bad little trip, was it?" Wyndam pointed to a thick copse of trees. "It's just down there."

He led the way down the ridge, his horse was sure-footed. He jumped off at the bottom of the slope, and waited for Jenny and Isobel to join him. He lifted Isobel down gently, catching the drawstring bag in his hand. He looked up at Jenny with a calculating gleam in his eye. Now do you believe me, his manner was saying. He handed the bag to Isobel with a flourish, then he helped Jenny down.

"Isobel, keep an eye on the horses will you?" Isobel grabbed the reins of both horses.

"Now wait a minute," said Jenny. Wyndam shrugged.

"She'll be fine. What can happen to her? She finds a pet rabbit, or two. Come on. It'll only take a minute or two." He took her hand and gently pulled her towards the trees, only stopping at the edge of the copse. He let go of her hand, and sat down on a large lump of rock.

"Tell me what you see, and feel."

"You're not serious?" Jenny was looking at him in disbelief.

"Perfectly serious. Try to shut everything out, then tell me what you see, and feel."

She stared at him for a long while, before turning to walk a few feet along the edge of the trees. She gazed back at Isobel, who seemed happy enough sitting down on a log, feeding the horses clumps of grass.

"Your full attention, please. She's fine." Jenny shot him a look, but he didn't take her on. She turned her eyes to the trees, which were still holding the odd leaf, that was unusual. It was nearly the end of November now. She breathed in deeply, then let her breath out.

"Trees." Wyndam didn't interrupt her, or try to prompt her; he just sat quietly, watching her closely. She examined the ground around her; there were scorch marks in the grass. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to feel anything unusual, or odd, but nothing came to her. She was slightly disappointed. She turned towards Wyndam.

"There's nothing here. I don't know what you're looking for, but there's nothing here beyond nature." Wyndam's face was giving nothing away.

"I see." He stood up, wiping his hands. "Next place."

"What?" Jenny had assumed they would be going straight back to Whitekirk.

"It's not far from here. The air will do you good." He led the way back up to the horses, with Jenny trying to keep up with him.

"What are you doing, Wyndam?" He finally stopped by the horses. A look of pained innocence appeared on his face.

"It's just a little test, Jenny. The next one really isn't that far." He helped her and Isobel back up on to their horse, and mounted his own black horse. "It's just over by Clitheroe, so it's on the way home anyway." They turned back, eventually stopping beneath the stone keep on the limestone cliff. It was the same routine as before. Tell me what you see and feel...

"Soldiers..." she said brusquely. Wyndam rolled his eyes.

"In a Norman keep? How extraordinary...anything else?" She glared at him, then she turned to look up at the cliff. She felt light-headed, so weak all of a sudden, she felt Wyndam put his hand out to steady her. She could hear whispers, then a woman's scream. It faded as quickly as it had appeared. An echo, nothing more. She told him what she'd heard and felt. A spirit had been here, but was long gone.

"Who was it?" Wyndam said nothing, he looked away, shrugging.

"You're the seer." Jenny was indignant at that.

"You brought me here. It doesn't work like that, something happened here...before the keep was built..." A look of surprise crossed Wyndam's face, briefly. She stood her ground.

"Not guilty, I'm afraid," he said tersely, "that's the Normans for you. Wiped us out then expected us to be thankful. I'm guessing the lady protested, they took umbrage, and..." he motioned with his hands, a push, then a drop.

"A long memory, Wyndam?" She said it gently, not expecting an answer.

"Too long, sometimes," he said softly.

"You're right, of course. I don't know who she was, but the first lot of Norman builders had a lot of trouble when they tried to build the keep. I've a feeling an old practice was used. A little like the one where your Scottish priests buried people alive to strengthen the building..."

"Who were the Normans, Mr Wyndam?" Isobel's little voice piped up from over by the horses. Wyndam sighed.

"Very good at invading, building castles, and killing Saxons. Haven't you taught her any history?"

"It's not her history, Wyndam," Jenny chided, "We had our own problems, one king after another, our own little Norman invasion, and before that, the Vikings..." Wyndam's head tilted at that. A strange blank look passed over his features. Jenny glimpsed it, but decided not to press any further.

"I know about Bannockburn...1314...Robert the Bruce..." sing-songed Isobel.

"He got lucky, Isobel." Jenny was about to protest, when she caught Wyndam's smile. He was teasing her again. He chuckled to himself. He whispered to Jenny;

"I was there. The English forces lost, because their king was an idiot." Jenny cooled her temper.

"Not on the winning side there, Wyndam?" A more rueful smile appeared.

"No. Not always." He looked up at the slate grey sky. "Time to go. All in all, a successful first trip. You've proven me right, that always pleases me...and you got to have some fresh air...shall we go?"

"Proven you right, how?" said Jenny, curious. Wyndam gazed intently at her.

"That I was right to let you live," he said quietly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Apologies for not updating sooner! This has been due to Real Life being a wee bit busy...I had to split this chapter, so the next one should be along a bit quicker than usual, hopefully! And to anyone still reading...thank you! Comments and reviews are welcome...**

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"Not much further..."

"That's what you said the last time..."

Jenny and Isobel were standing in a clearing, in the middle of a small wood. Wyndam stood to one side. He turned, a look of doubt on his face.

"There's normally a bit of leeway, is this a leap year?" Jenny looked down at Isobel, who met her mother's gaze.

"Is Mr Wyndam alright, Mother?" Jenny glanced over at him.

"Depends on your point of view...Isobel. He's playing a little game with us. We'll just humour him...Are you hungry, sweetheart?" Isobel nodded, her stomach was rumbling. "Sit down there," she pointed to a tree trunk, then turned to Wyndam, who was retracing his steps, still looking round the clearing as though something was missing.

"When you're quite finished, Wyndam..." He turned quickly, a puzzled expression crossed his face.

"That's the thing, when you get over..." he caught Jenny's warning eyes, "thirty...Isobel..." he nodded to Jenny, "the brain doesn't always...I was sure it was somewhere around here...been a few years but...it's not important." Jenny sat down with Isobel, unwrapping the bread and cheese. Wyndam stood a while, before shrugging his shoulders, and walking over towards them.

"Ah! A little feast..." Jenny's eyes shot up. He smiled in return. "I should have thought about that." She passed him some of her portion, as he sat down beside her. Isobel stood up, and skipped over to the horses.

"If you told me what you were looking for, Wyndam, I might be better at finding it," she said quietly. He gave her a wide grin.

"But then it wouldn't be so much fun, would it Jenny..." He turned his gaze to the sky for a second. "That rain is going to start hammering down soon. We'd better make a move...I said I would get you back home in a couple of hours, and I will. I don't suppose you can tell prophecies? I could do with someone like that..." Jenny shuddered.

"I can't think of anything worse...I see flashes, Wyndam, nothing more."

"They frighten you, still, don't they?" He said it simply, one eye on Isobel as she petted the horses.

"Yes," she confided. "Who really wants to know their own ending...?" He smiled grimly.

"You'd be surprised...I don't suppose you can summon up doors?" She looked at him in amazement.

"No one can...I can't call up a door, out of thin air..." she said tersely. "I help people pass over...I don't have that power..."

"Don't you?" The look he gave her was speculative.

"Where do you live, Mr Wyndam?" said Isobel, through a mouthful of bread, as she walked back over. Jenny's eyes went to Wyndam's face; she'd wondered the same thing. How close were the vampires?

"Not far away...I tend to move around a lot, Isobel..."

"To get away from the mobs with pitchforks?" Jenny whispered, a sly smile on her face. Wyndam tilted his head.

"Touché, Madam," he said softly. "It's a gloomy old place Isobel, not like your home." Isobel smiled, satisfied with his answer. Jenny wasn't though. How far were they...?

The journey back to the cottage went quickly. He kept his word. He delivered them back safely to the cottage, helping them both down from their horse. Isobel patted both horses, before looking up at her mother expectantly. Jenny handed her the key to the cottage.

"Goodbye, Mr Wyndam." He smiled, watching the child walk up to the door. Jenny turned to follow, but he caught her arm. She let out a cry of pain, he'd grabbed her left wrist, the one with the wound, his wound...He released her just as quickly, a strange look on his face. Isobel spun around, alarmed at the noise.

"It's alright, Isobel. I tripped..." her daughter took her word, and went inside. Wyndam was watching her closely.

"That shouldn't be causing you pain...not now..." She looked at him warily.

"I've been...I fainted the other day...I'm just tired..." she looked away, not sure why she was telling him, he already knew about her being ill. He was studying her face carefully.

"You've only recently started using your abilities to any great extent, you've remembered a lot about your past, you're worried about the future...it's bound to have an effect on anyone's health..." his gaze drifted to the trees, another vampire was coming on watch. Jenny caught his sharp look.

"Who is that? I don't know his face." Wyndam turned back towards her.

"That is Johnson. He's been here before. He's normally much better at _skulking_ than that..." The other vampire heard the rebuke, and pulled back into the trees. Wyndam didn't even waste a glance on him. He folded his arms.

"Anyway, a pleasant day. Is there someone who can look after Isobel tomorrow, for a few hours?" The searching look was there.

"Why?" said Jenny, her unease had crept into her voice.

"It's just another little trip, but one that I wouldn't advise you taking Isobel on. I will bring you back as soon as possible. She will barely have had time to miss you, and you will be back..." He was tempting her again, she knew, but she still had no idea what he was wanting from her, and Isobel would be safe in the village...

"I suppose I could leave her with...her friend...but not for long...I need to..." she was hesitating.

"Good, that's settled." He turned to go. "Noon, tomorrow. Jenny." He nodded at her, then he mounted his horse. The grey horse stood, still tethered to the gate. For a second she thought, if he leaves the horse...

"Ah, ah!" Wyndam wagged his forefinger. "Temptation, Jenny...I really wouldn't want to put that 'apple' in your way..." The dark smile was back as he slipped the horse's reins from the gate.

Jenny watched him ride off; a shiver ran through her, the weather was turning damp as she entered the cottage. She smiled at her daughter, who was busy setting the table. She sat down and waved Isobel to do the same.

"How would you like to see Ruth tomorrow? I have something to do; you'll just get bored..." Isobel's eyes widened.

"No handwriting? Tomorrow's a Monday..." Jenny smiled wearily.

"Just for once, yes, no learning." Isobel beamed.

"Ruth's cat's going to have kittens..."

"That's nice, sweetheart..." said Jenny as she patted Isobel's hand, but her mind was on other things. _She'll be safe in the village...he hasn't hurt her...that's as much as you can ask for..._

Then a thought occurred to her.

"Isobel, you haven't told anyone about Mr Wyndam have you?" Her daughter gazed up at her, curious.

"No, Mum. Why?"

"No reason...I just...I don't think that we should speak about him, outside the cottage..."

"Why?" Isobel persisted. How do I explain any of this to a child, thought Jenny?

"I don't think he'd like us to...gossip about him..." Isobel nodded solemnly. She knew better than to tell others a secret. Her mother had her sad-eyed look, that only happened when she was being really serious, or when she was really unhappy. She took a deep breath.

"No, Mum. Cross my heart, and hope to..." Jenny's eyes flashed to Isobel's. Her daughter just smiled, guilelessly.

The next day came. Jenny and Isobel left for the village. Johnson was still on watch. He nodded to Jenny, but said nothing as they passed. Isobel noticed him, as if for the first time.

"Mr Wyndam says you're special, Mum. Is that why the men have been here?" What could she tell her, thought Jenny. She didn't know the real reasons for their presence herself. He wants me here, we stay here, there is no choice in the matter.

"Mr Wyndam worries that we are not...the cottage is a bit far out...we are on our own..."

"So they are a bit like his Lordship's hunting hounds? They guard his house..."

"Yes, Isobel," sighed her mother. But with much sharper teeth...

"So I shouldn't tell anyone about them, either?" Jenny nodded placidly at her. "Just so I know, Mum." Isobel grinned.

"That is boldness, Isobel. And bold girls..."

"...end up in big trouble, Mum..." said Isobel, cheekily. She waited for the gentle clip around her ears, but instead, her mother's face stayed so still, the sad eyes were looking deeply into her own. She slipped her hand from her mother's.

"Come on Mum! I'll race you..." Jenny laughed, for the first time that day, then chased after her daughter.

Her mood had lifted a little by the time they reached the village. She rapped on the door of Ruth's cottage, Isobel's friend opened it. They could hear mewing coming from behind her.

"Bye Mum," was all Isobel said, as her mother looked on enviously. Everything is normal, she told herself. Isobel is safe here. There are people all around...

"You doing something nice?" Ruth's mother appeared, wiping her floury hands on her apron. Jenny smiled.

"I wish! No, I've to go over Pendle way..." the lies were coming so easy to her now...who was she trying to fool...she'd been lying to herself for years...she'd had plenty of practice...

"You might have another mouth to feed when you come back!" Jenny smiled again at the woman.

"Thanks for this." The woman shrugged. "No kitten, Isobel..." said Jenny, sternly.

"Aw..." was the muffled reply.

She was almost clear of the village when she saw the baker's son, by the gate to his Lordship's house. He was walking slowly as though in a dream, then he halted, a strange vacant expression on his face. Something wasn't quite right with him, Jenny hurried over to him.

"Are you..." The boy didn't respond, he fell, his knees rigid, then collapsed to one side, in some kind of seizure. She yelled out for help, kneeling down to move him gently round, stroking his face. She'd seen it happen once before, at Court. A nobleman had suffered a fit; she'd seen the court physician force a spoon between his teeth, to stop him swallowing his tongue. She grabbed a twig, it would have to do. The boy was shaking, and muttering to himself. She could hear running footsteps behind her, but she felt a pair of eyes staring at her. She looked up to see the baby boy's mother peering down at her, a malicious gleam in her eyes.

"Witchcraft..." Jenny let out a tired groan at that.

"No, it's not..." it was out before she realised what she'd said. "It's...like a bad chest, or a broken leg...he's not well..."

"Well he was fine before you went near him..." the bile was there, spitting out in the younger woman's voice.

"No, he wasn't," said Jenny, quietly.

"Oh God, Matthew..." the boy's own mother had heard Jenny's cries. She squatted down beside them, and tried to pull her son upright.

"No, leave him be, 'til it passes," said Jenny. The woman nodded, mutely. "Has it happened before?" asked Jenny, who was ignoring the young mother's glare.

"Yes," whispered the woman, "never outside...me husband...he didn't want anyone to know..."

"_She_ cursed him..." The young mother stamped her feet as she said it, pointing gleefully at Jenny. The woman scowled up at her.

"Away with yourself, you...look to your own house, before you stick your nose in where it's not wanted...talking nonsense..." she muttered an oath under her breath.

"She..." the young mother was insistent. Her husband appeared, a drawn look on his face. A small crowd was gathering. "Come on, love. The boy's not well. This isn't helping anyone..." He led her away, she was still protesting;

"Why can't you see it? It's _her_..."

The boy was starting to come out of the fit, he was still dazed, but his body was relaxing it's grip.

"Mam..."

"It's alright, son. The nice lady was looking after you..." The woman looked up gratefully at Jenny. "Thank you. Especially when you didn't have to, and putting up with that...baggage...I know she's grieving but that's...will you lot get out of it..." she shooed the crowd away. Jenny smiled, nervously, her eyes kept flitting to the young mother, who was still arguing with her husband as he pulled her into their own cottage. Jenny turned her attention back to the woman.

"Have you tried him with valerian? It might help. I'll put some down to you, the next time I'm in the village." The woman thanked her again, then lifted her son up into her arms.

"They never get any lighter, do they?" Jenny smiled as the woman walked away, then she looked up. The sun was high in the sky, she'd be late getting back to the cottage...she picked her skirts up and started to run.

**THE COTTAGE**

Wyndam was standing, tapping his foot impatiently. Johnson saw his master's patience slipping away. He didn't envy the woman, at all.

"She definitely went down to the village? She didn't cut through the woods?" The dark edge was in his voice.

"No sir. I followed for a bit, she had nothing with her, neither did the child..." Wyndam's head swung round at that. She wasn't going to run again, he was sure of that. She knew he would track her down, and bring her back, so where was she?

He heard her, before he saw her. Her heartbeat was racing; she was out of breath when she reached him.

"You are late, Jenny." He folded his arms and stood bolt upright, his expression unreadable. She stopped right in front of him. "But no matter." Johnson gazed over in amazement at that. "Shall we get going?" There was no reproach for her lateness, nor seemingly any curiosity as to what she had been doing. Wyndam helped her up on to the same grey horse as the day before. She tried to explain her lateness.

"A boy in the village...he was unwell..."

"I knew you would have a good reason, for keeping me waiting..." There was the bite in his tone. He mounted his own horse, and leant forward in his saddle.

"Now, yesterday was a very pleasant, _slow_ ride..." Jenny raised her head slightly, "but today I think we can go a bit faster..." his blue eyes were shining, "what do you say?" Jenny eyed him with interest.

"It is your little trip, Wyndam. How fast were you thinking?" The answering smile was cunning.

"A wager, Jenny?" There was the sharpness again. She smiled sweetly.

"I would lose, wouldn't I Wyndam? You forget, I've ridden that horse," she pointed to his black horse, "you wouldn't give me a faster horse, just in case I cut loose and headed for the hills..." He smiled back.

"Still, I think a 'let your hair down' gallop might do you the world of good..."

"And I might break my neck..." countered Jenny.

"You are no good to me dead, Jenny..." The humour was gone. "Come on. To that oak tree at the far end of the path...I'll give you a head-start..." She kicked her horse into a canter, then a gallop, but Wyndam's horse easily outran them. He waited for her to catch up at the oak.

"You were on the faster horse..." He chuckled.

"I won him in a bet at Chester. He should be fast, what he nearly cost me..."

"Just a poor sinner, eh Wyndam?" she teased. He shook his head.

"Never bet with a vampire, Jenny. I won the horse, he won the lady. Well, I say won the lady...more...he carried her off screaming..." She changed the subject.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Very direct. No nonsense. That's what I like about you, Jenny. This trip is a little different. I know what is there, or should be there. You do not. That is the test. Do you agree to come?"

"I have a choice?" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Of course you do." She glanced behind herself, at the path leading home.

"So if I turn around now...and head back to Whitekirk?" she mused. Wyndam sighed.

"You are very hard work, woman...There will be no dire retribution raining down on you, but I will be disappointed. And I think you will be, too." His face turned serious. "You want to learn more about what you can do, I want to help you fulfil that potential...where is the harm in that?" She waited a long moment before answering.

"Yes." He smiled warmly.

"Good. Shall we continue?" She nodded. "But a little bit _faster_..." His eyes were gleaming again.

They came eventually to a crossroads. They had been heading northwards away from the village for some time. Wyndam stared straight ahead.

"It's just up there, over the hill."

He dismounted, and helped Jenny down. They walked slowly up the hill, the horses were reluctant to follow, spooking at the slightest thing. She could feel a chill in the air. The ruins of a cottage were just visible below them, through an overgrown mass of bracken and fallen trees.

"I think we should leave the horses here, Wyndam." He looked at her strangely for a second, before nodding his agreement. He took both horses' reins, and led them to the side, tying them to an overhanging branch. Jenny stood quietly, looking all around her, then she closed her eyes, and took a step forward. She couldn't hear anything, but she could feel something, something dark, nearby. She opened her eyes, and felt drawn to her right, walking straight on, down towards the ruined cottage. Moss covered the building; the roof had long since caved in. There was such an air of despondency about the place, the very air seemed frozen. A dark soul was here...

Wyndam followed silently behind her, watching and waiting. She could see a figure crouching down among the fallen stonework of the cottage. It seemed to be searching for something. The figure stood up, then it turned sharply, as though it knew it was being observed. The figure's features were hazy, as though Jenny was seeing it through a mist. The figure was of a man, around six feet tall, with brown hair. She could feel the evil in him, it surrounded him with darkness.

"There's...nothing here..." she stammered..."Can we go?" The man seemed to be assessing her, the dark eyes taking in her own grey ones, a very dark soul...she knew what they could do to her...they hated the living...and they could do her physical harm...why had he brought her to this place?

"Please, I want to go now...there's..." she could feel the familiar chill stealing into her bones...

"...nothing here? Oh Jenny," he scolded her, gently, "add never play cards to that list...you'd be penniless in five minutes! I know you can see him...I know you can feel his hate...it's dripping off him...why are you denying what you can do...it's what you are..." his voice was as smooth as silk.

"Stop this...I want to go..." the shiver was moving down her spine. She pulled away from the man's leering gaze, backing towards Wyndam. She stopped at his side, unwilling to meet his eyes. He leaned in to her, whispering softly;

"Look at him, Jenny..."

"No...I don't want..." He softened his tone even more.

"Look_ closely_ at him..." She twisted round against her will, as Wyndam took her hand. "Look at him..." She gazed into the man's hate-filled eyes...and recognised his features, finally. The man she had seen...kill his wife...the rope Wyndam had given her as a test... She felt the rope burn against her skin as the noose tightened...she was choking again...she could feel her eyes bulge, and her brain explode...then she heard Wyndam's voice, soft and low;

"Breathe...are you going to let him win? Concentrate..." She focused on the man's laughing eyes...she felt her anger rise...then she felt the rope loosen around her neck...the laughing eyes stalled...then fear appeared in them...

"Yes...that's it..." said Wyndam, "he's the one who is scared now...use that...remember her fear...her pain..." The man was trembling now...she could hear whispers in her mind...Pull it through...open the door...that's it...

She could see another figure, so faint, it was barely visible, but it was there. A woman, watching her in astonishment. Jenny caught her own breath. A door stood in the wall of the broken-down cottage. She heard Wyndam's voice, as clear as a bell, say;

"Open the door...send him straight through...it's what he _deserves._.."

All her fear and anger twisted itself into one thought...

"Get you gone..." She repeated it. "Get you gone..." Then she heard Wyndam's voice again;

"Louder..." She breathed again, and yelled;

"GET YOU GONE...!"

The door swung open, the man fell down, scrabbling for purchase on the ground, but to no avail. Whatever force was on the other side of the door, was stronger, and the man was dragged backwards into the red light beyond the door, which slammed shut behind him. Jenny fell to the ground, the link broken, exhausted. She felt Wyndam pick her up gently.

"I can't..." He tilted her face towards the scene again.

"No...Look..." he said softly, directing her gaze towards the cottage. The woman's figure was becoming stronger. Another door appeared in the cottage wall. The woman smiled at Jenny, then she opened the door, a wistful expression on her face, the light behind the door was brilliant white, the light hurt Jenny's eyes.

"Go...it's your time..." whispered Jenny, tears in her eyes. The woman gave her a serene smile, and passed through the door. It vanished instantly. The air of sadness about the place seemed to lift; Jenny could feel the change in the air, the sudden warmth of the sun on her face.

"I can't call up a door? I don't have that power?" Wyndam mocked playfully.

"Don't patronise me..." She realised he was still holding her. She pushed him aside. He burst out laughing.

"I'm not...I'm complimenting you...Steady..." She felt her legs go from beneath her, the soft grass cushioning her fall. "I should have warned you...that can happen, especially at first, when you are still learning...it can drain your energy..." He helped her up, and over to the tumbledown cottage, setting her down on the wall.

"Affect my health?" Now she understood the tiredness a little better.

"Yes...but that's a good sign...it means you're strong. You'll come through it." She went to stand up, but he pushed her gently back down.

"No, stay where you are...You need to eat and drink something. I came prepared, this time..." He strode back to the horses, and untied a saddlebag. Jenny watched him attentively.

"You've known other seers...not just my grandmother..." He looked up with a wry grin as he walked back.

"A few..." He dug into the bag, removing two bottles, and laid them down beside Jenny. She reached for one, only for Wyndam to call out;

"Not that one..." Her hand hovered over the bottle.

"Oh..." She peered closely at it. The contents looked dark. "...Can you drink blood that isn't fresh? I don't think I want to know..." He smiled, his eyes gleaming.

"No...It's whisky..." He pointed to the other bottle. "That's brandy. There should be some water in here, too." He rummaged in the bag; another bottle appeared, along with some food. They sat quietly, Jenny still felt weak, the food helped a little.

"Blood has life in it...for some time after...The strength leaves it..." He stopped himself. "You really want to know?" She looked away, uncomfortable at the subject.

"But you, your kind, can...feed...without killing, can't you? You let me go..." He sighed again.

"Yes, but usually the people we feed on, aren't that happy to let us..." The irony was obvious in his tone.

"I'm just trying to..."

"What, understand?" She'd hit a raw nerve, she had angered him. "The hunger isn't something you can wish away...You can barter with it, you can fight it, or you can give in to it, and drown...but it will always win..." He stood, suddenly restless. The searing was starting to burn its way through his veins again.

"You feed...before you come near me now, don't you?" He met her eyes.

"Yes." He left out the fact that the more time she spent with him, the greater the hunger, the greater his need to feed became. He looked away first. He sat back down beside her, tensing his fingers.

"I've met quite a few seers, in my time. The supernatural interests me; it always has done, even before I was turned."

He was letting her in, just a little. She decided to chance her luck, to press him further.

"You said you are six hundred years old..." She was studying him closely.

"And a bit...yes..." He seemed happy to answer her questions, so she continued.

"You were around in battle..."

"A fair few...more than my share..." he sighed. "We tend to follow war around like..." he paused, remembering Flodden...so many bodies... "My kind are drawn to battle..." She hesitated before, continuing, watching his reactions.

"But you've known...you've fought..."

"Yes...it's a mutually beneficial relationship. We play our part, even though they aren't our wars. War covers our...natural hunger...our feeding...and there's less chance of carnage all round...it keeps us from creating more mayhem than is necessary..."

A few more bodies among the dead, who would notice, she thought. His features hardened. "Mayhem which would draw unwelcome attention to you..." she put it bluntly.

"Yes," was the curt reply. His eyes were bright, though.

"What was there, before the doors?"

"In battle?" She nodded. He pondered for a moment, before replying. "A light...sometimes...I didn't tend to hang around, you might lose your head if you stayed too long..." He raised his eyes to the sky. "It's turning cold. I'd better get you back. How are you feeling now? Recovered enough that you're not going to fall off the horse?" The dry humour was back, but he had let her in...

He dropped her as close to Whitekirk as she dared to ask. He leant over as she went to walk away.

"Do you need anything? Any money..." She lifted her chin at that. He sighed, women and their pride...

"I'm just asking a question. I imagine your healing skills don't bring in more than a few pennies, they don't have much round here..."

"I'm fine. I don't need..." Her temper was rising.

"It's not charity, you are under my protection. I don't want you dropping dead, for want of your pride. You are putting what little you do have in your daughter's stomach, aren't you?" His horse spooked, at a rustling sound from nearby. Wyndam jerked its head around, trying to settle it. A small group of people were tramping along the ridge of the hillside; the trees shielded Wyndam and Jenny from view.

"They'll have to watch that," he said quietly. Jenny strained her eyes to see what he was looking at.

"Why? They are just walking..." He laughed, mirthlessly.

"You mean you haven't seen them before? Unless I'm much mistaken, they are coming back from celebrating Mass, somewhere, yesterday..." He caught her look of surprise. "They are mostly Catholic, round here...I'll bet the good Reverend knows all about it..." he smiled darkly. "Religious tolerance...a contradiction in terms..." He rolled his eyes as he said it, spinning his horse round, pulling the grey horse along with it. "Goodbye Jenny."

She was struggling to comprehend what she'd seen and heard that day. He was after her abilities for something, that much she'd had confirmed. But for what reason? A prophecy? She laughed at the very idea. She'd never had one of those in her life, the little flashes of the future she sometimes had, they were just that, flashes, they weren't the same thing. Yet her grandmother had told Wyndam that prophecy..."If you look for her, you will never find her, she will find you..." which to be fair, she had..,

"I don't want a cat, Mum..." At least everything was fine with Isobel, she sighed.

"Why, sweetheart?" They were trudging slowly back home. Her daughter put on a petted lip.

"They nip...and scratch...I was only stroking it..." Jenny could see Harper standing, by the trees, talking to someone. She knew the familiar figure, even from behind. Wyndam, stood, his arms behind his back, answering Harper quietly. She tensed, what now? He turned at the sound of Isobel's voice.

"On you go, child, inside..." Jenny nudged her towards the door, Isobel for once, took the hint.

"Night, sirs." Wyndam turned his gaze on Jenny. Harper drifted away, out of earshot. Wyndam spoke first.

"I wanted to thank you for coming with me today. I know that it took you a great deal to trust me, understandably..." He saw a wary look cross her face. She'd worked out that each trip was a little bit longer, he was testing her trust further, each time.

"I have a final...test...The same conditions as before. You do not have to come...but I would be grateful if you did..."

"When?"

"Friday evening. You should be rested enough by then...It's quite a long ride...might be necessary to stay somewhere over night..."

"What? No...How do I explain that to Isobel? Where would I leave her? I am not your..." His eyebrows rose.

"My what?" He sighed, "you can stay in a nunnery if you want...it wouldn't stop me if I wanted to harm you...I'm just saying, it's quite a distance..." She was glaring at him. He sighed again, gritting his teeth. "I will bring you back as quickly as possible. Is there anyone she could stay with for a day or so?"

She couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't ask awkward questions. She heard Harper cough, she looked over at him, he was pointing at the cottage. Jenny swung round. Isobel was standing at the gate.

"I could stay with Mr and Mrs Burnett. She's poorly...and they have a dog..." Wyndam raised a hand, smiling.

"There, a solution..."

"Not helping, Isobel..." Jenny said, tautly.

"That's settled. Friday." He walked away. Jenny hurried over to Isobel, and grabbed her hands. Isobel cowed slightly, not understanding why her mother was angry. Jenny saw the same fear in Isobel's eyes, that she had seen in her own...She dropped to her knees to hug her daughter. She's a child, she doesn't know the danger...

"What did I do wrong Mum? You always say we should help people who ask for our help...Mrs Burnett's not well..."

"Yes, Isobel, but you think everyone in the world is...good...and kind..." She had taught her to be wary of strangers, but she had shielded her from so much...She watched over Isobel's shoulder as Wyndam rode off. "No dire retribution will rain down on you.." those words sounded hollow...

A final test...

And if she failed...

A shiver of ice ran through her...


	14. Chapter 14

**Apologies for the length of this chapter, but I don't think it could be split easily...I will have a go at splitting it, but if I don't put it up now...This one has proven a little troublesome...thanks to Saint and Topo on the Blog for a conversation about where vampires may go when they die...possibly...Any mistakes will be dealt with shortly. The Being Human characters are Toby Whithouse's, the BBC's and the other talented writers involved in the show.**

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Friday night. A bitter frost was setting in. Another cold, November night in Lancashire. She saw him through the kitchen window, standing by the garden gate. She kept her eyes fixed on him as she walked cautiously down the path towards him.

"You look as though you are walking towards the Devil himself, Jenny..." She stopped abruptly. Wyndam smiled, as the moonlight fell on his face, she could see a dark gleam in his eyes. "Not quite..." he said softly, opening the gate for her.

She pulled the hood of her cloak up, over her head, her fingers trembling with the cold. She fumbled with the ties, her nerves getting the better of her. He could feel her agitation.

"Give me your hands..." Her eyes flickered, but she placed her hands in his. They were even colder than her own.

"Your heartbeat is so loud...you're trying to calm your fears with your breathing...it isn't working. There's nothing to be afraid of..." His voice was so persuasive, yet she doubted him still.

"No?" He smiled.

"No...You are with me..."

They'd ridden for what seemed like miles, along dirt tracks, and poor roads, not seeing another soul. It was such a cloudy night, she couldn't tell which direction they were headed in, Wyndam had deliberately turned them around several times. She had no idea where they were, or where they were going. There were no recognisable stars breaking through the clouds, to help her find her way back. She thought they had been heading west, at least at the beginning, but now she wasn't sure. She'd looked for any signposts, but she had seen none. He seemed to be taking her a way only he knew. She was in the middle of nowhere, with a six hundred year-old-killer...miles from home...and miles from Isobel...

"Why did you ask me if I could tell prophecies?" She'd stopped her horse, unable to bear the quiet any longer. The further they travelled from Whitekirk, the greater her unease became. Wyndam yanked his horse to a stop. He'd been silent for most of the way, seemingly determined to get to wherever he was taking her, as quickly as possible. He turned his horse around, and looked at her seriously.

"We are great believers in prophecy...the ability to see the future is highly prized, it is so rare..." He looked away for a moment, then turned his gaze back on her.

"Some see much further than others..." He took a breath, before continuing.

"We have our own history. Some of it is known, and kept, but the future matters to us...we survive...we are the future...one way or another...our time will come...it is only a question of how...and when..." He sounded so resolute, as though it were a well-rehearsed argument.

"You sound very sure of yourself, Wyndam," she said in a low voice.

"Of course..." was the assured reply. "What do you see?"

She blinked, not expecting the question. She looked around herself.

"Trees...big trees...a dark night..." He chuckled.

"Not much gets past you, does it? How did you get to Whitekirk?" She gazed at him, curiously.

"Down through the Borders, we crossed back to Northumbria...then..." He cut her off in mid-sentence.

"So you've never been further west, or south, of Whitekirk?" The questioning look was there. She was intrigued.

"No...Why? We don't exactly get about much...you've seen that for yourself..." He smiled again.

"No reason...though I remember your little jaunt on the Chester road..." He urged his horse into a trot. They resumed their journey, not a word passing between them for several miles. Wyndam spoke first.

"I take it the Burnett's were happy to look after Isobel?" Now he wants to talk, she thought.

"Yes. She'll be company for Mrs Burnett, while her husband's working...I don't think she'll make it to Christmas..." her thoughts drifted off...They hadn't asked any awkward questions, merely taken her at her word, she had something to do, she would be back as soon as possible...Burnett had noticed her worried look though.

"Your family friend, you say...Is everything alright? You're not happy..." She replied with her sweetest smile, and her smoothest lie;

"Everything is fine...I just have something to deal with..." Or someone..."I will be back...Everything will be alright..."

"A penny for them..." Wyndam's voice cut in. She had halted her horse, without realising it. She looked up at him, waiting for a caustic remark, but he was paying her no attention, pulling something out of his saddlebag.

"We are almost there," he said, "but it would be better for you, if you put this on...it is for your own good..." She could see what was in his hands, some kind of material...a blindfold. She breathed in slowly.

"Oh, you're that kind of..." she tried to laugh it off; the unease was taking hold of her again. He smiled, ruefully.

"That tends to go with the fangs..." he was trying to keep the tone light, as well.

"I don't want you distracted, I want you to concentrate. It is better for you, that you that you don't know where you are going, or how to get there again. I would not ask if I didn't think it was important..."

It was coming down to a matter of trust. She was remembering her arrest, the officers had bound her hands, then one insisted that she be gagged and blindfolded too;

"Can't be too careful, if she is a witch she might try cursing us..." She'd laughed at that, not believing they were serious, then she'd seen their eyes...Her father had looked at her strangely, she'd thought it was shame that his daughter was going the same way as his wife, she'd thought about the time when she'd wished him harm...he was thinking the same thing...that was when the fear had taken hold...She cried out as they went to do it, her father had moved towards her, as if to help her, but the man in charge stepped in front of him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"She'll receive a fair trial, I imagine, if she's innocent..." He'd laughed harshly in her face, as one of the others kicked her to the ground, the better to restrain her. She'd got a good kick at him somewhere very tender, before she was pulled upright, still struggling as they bound her eyes. The absolute humiliation...the fear...but she wouldn't cry out again...she wouldn't give them the satisfaction...

"Jenny..." It was said softly. She looked up at Wyndam reluctantly. He would have read every thought; he had to know what it would cost her to trust him. He was waiting patiently for her answer; he knew what he was asking of her, she was sure. She scanned his face for any sign of malice, but there was none. She took a deep breath; she knew it was a turning point in this strange acquaintance. A leap of faith...

"I won't be able to see where I'm going..."

"No, but the horse can..." She laughed, in spite of herself. The answering smile was seemingly genuine, but then he's been doing this a long time, she thought. How many has he fooled over the years...?

"Alright, but if I fall over a cliff, I'm coming back to haunt you..." His eyes lit up, a wide smile on his face.

"I don't doubt that for a second..."

He felt her tense as he tied the blindfold.

"It's alright; I'm not serving you up as a meal to a pack of starving vampires..."

"It wouldn't be the first time you've done that though, would it Wyndam?" Her fear was making her braver now. She heard the dark chuckle.

"Well, I can't say it has never happened...but not to you..."

"Why not?" She heard him draw in his breath. A sigh.

"You are different..."

"How?" She turned her head towards his voice, automatically.

"You caught my eye...you stood out..."

They continued on, more slowly this time, with Wyndam leading Jenny's horse. With her eyes bound, she had to concentrate on what she could hear, and feel, around her, she could feel a chilled breeze, she heard the odd hoot of an owl, and just for a second, she heard a strange shrieking howl. She flinched at the sound, spooking her horse. Wyndam halted both horses.

"It's just a fox," he said.

"What else would it be," she answered, "there are no wolves left..."

"There are always wolves..." he replied. "We are there." She raised her hands to untie the blindfold, but she felt his hands catch her own.

"No, leave it on. It's better for you if you don't know where you are, or how to get here..." She hesitated for a moment, before answering him.

"Yes." He helped her down, taking her hands and leading her carefully across what felt like soft, grass beneath her feet. She could feel a fine breeze on her face, and she could hear a soft, lapping sound coming from her right, she could almost taste...She couldn't help herself, she opened her mouth.

"We are near the coast...I can smell the sea...there's salt in the air..." She heard Wyndam's exasperated groan.

"Fine, woman, have it your own way...don't say I didn't warn you..." He untied the blindfold. They were stood in yet another clearing. Her eyes took a while to adjust to the bright moonlight. She could see large, bulky stones lying where they must have fallen years before. Another ruin, she thought, but much older, and more spacious than the dank depressing ruin of a cottage he'd taken her to, just a few days before.

"Do you see, or feel, anything, here?" Wyndam stood to one side, his arms folded, with no expression on his face. He was tapping his fingers, the only sign of any restlessness. Jenny paused for a moment, if she could just look inside…if she could just know what he was looking for…

"Ah, ah! That would be cheating…" There was the familiar dark gleam in his eye, but it vanished quickly. The sharpness was there, though. He looked away from her.

"Did anything happen here?" There was a sudden urgency in his tone, he was anxious for her answer. This place is important to him, for some reason, she thought. Why? She scoured the scene, looking for anything that might mean something, calling out silently for anyone, or anything to answer her, but there was nothing. He was watching her so intently now, she felt a frisson of fear…he only has to take a few steps over…if I can't see anything…if I fail…

His head moved slightly, he knew exactly what she was thinking. She closed her eyes, and finally spoke.

"There's nothing here…" Wyndam turned away from her, unable to hide his disappointment. He really thought she would be the one…He had waited so long…

Jenny felt a sudden coolness on her face, a gentle touch of something…it felt like…soft flakes of snow…it was falling on her face…she reached up to touch them, knowing there was nothing there…but the cold was enveloping her…she could see snow all around her…she stepped forward…heard her feet crunching in the fallen snow…something was drawing her in…

"Not here…not this place…" she said, moving away from the ruins, picking her way through the real scene, bracken, to the right of them. Wyndam raised his head from his hands, turning in amazement. He followed her slowly, not quite believing his own eyes…

"Pain," she said faintly, "such terrible pain…" A tightness around her heart, a breathlessness…She walked on…taking no notice of Wyndam.

"Such suffering…" She could see small drops of blood in the snow…as though someone had fallen injured, and been dragged…She felt arms grasp her from behind, Wyndam's. She shrank from him, waiting for the pain…

"Look down..." was all he said. The scene faded. A steep drop fell away into a roughly-cut circular pit. It was overgrown now, but deep enough that if someone took a false step, they would have no way out. She could hear muffled whispers; they were confused and jumbled...

"We were trying to…I didn't want to kill her…Why are they doing this...help me…I won't kill anymore of them…they don't have to…they can live off animals…" A harsh laugh. A bitter voice.

"We served our purpose. We protected them and look what they did…they got what they deserved…she got what she deserved…she'd have killed you too…in the end…she would have made you like them..." Another voice, more plaintive.

"We did this to ourselves…we betrayed them…they will be coming…they'll burn us…they'll hunt us down…they don't forget…we killed one of them…"

"Be quiet…we have to get out of here…"

The voices faded as quickly as they'd come to her. The remains of long-gone spirits. Jenny looked round nervously at Wyndam. He had that cold look she was so familiar with. He was waiting for her questions.

"Who were they?" He let her go, and turned away.

"It doesn't matter."

"Why? Because they were human?" He shook his head.

"No. Because they were caught in a trap, of their own making. The hunters became the hunted...That was not made by my kind," he pointed to the pit. "They tried to destroy a group of vampires…after killing one of us…We were 'useful' to them, driving off their enemies for them…" There was more than a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Humanity has a strange way of showing its appreciation. She was a newborn, practically a babe in arms. She hadn't killed…her master fed her…she was coping…just…" He sighed. She'd meant something to him, she thought.

"This life…isn't for everyone…some…should never be turned…" She plucked up the courage.

"A friend, Wyndam?" He smiled.

"I suppose…I pitied her. That rarely happens. She was like a firefly…too brief a life to know what she would have become…" He paused; the sad tone gave way to anger.

"They bragged about it. How easy it had been to trap her…to kill her…" He was gazing intently into the pit. "That was how we found out about it…her maker had left her alone…" She was watching his reactions closely.

"What was her name?"

"Bathilda..." He sighed, then he turned to look at her.

"But we don't forget, Jenny…" The cruel smile was on his lips. "She was one of us. We came back. They were dealt with…" She knew that dark look in his eyes, and she knew better than to question him further.

"She's not here, Wyndam..." He smiled, sadly.

"I know. She was..." Jenny heard the faintest of murmurs, so hushed she could barely hear it. She looked ahead, to where she thought the sound was coming from. She started to walk away from the pit, skirting its edge. Wyndam still seemed to be lost in the past, not noticing her moving away from him. Whatever was pulling her, seemed to be getting stronger, the further she walked on. This was the reason he had brought her here, to this place. The moonlight shone a path through the undergrowth. A large circle, still obvious, in the scorched earth.

"This is the place...this is why..." her soft voice broke Wyndam's reverie. He gazed over at her, curious.

The cold sensation was seeping into her again. The scene changed again, like she was slipping between two worlds. She could see a trail of blood in the white snow. It stopped at the edge of the circle. She could smell burning wood...no that couldn't be...she concentrated...there was such pain...such suffering...but there was also a strange feeling of peace at the same time...she'd never felt anything like it...She raised her hand into the air, just above the circle. She could feel something so light...like gossamer...so thin...like a spider's web...They weren't spirits as she knew them...

"They are something else, aren't they?" Wyndam said nothing.

"They were vampires, weren't they?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible? Do vampires have..." He shrugged.

"It shouldn't be...we don't..." She could feel pain in him...that was unnerving.

"I'm sorry..." He looked directly at her.

"You can feel them, can't you, Jenny?" He said it so sadly, she looked away, uncomfortable.

"I can hear them, too, Wyndam..." She could just hear the softest of whispers. A gentle sobbing. He was watching her carefully. How much to tell her...

"You're the only other person who's ever felt them..."

"How many have you brought here?"

"A few..."

"How many have walked away?" She was scared to ask the question, knowing what the answer would be.

"None...until tonight..." That trickle of fear was there in her heart.

"Was one of them your maker?" He smiled wistfully.

"No...A friend made at the same time...A long time ago...He went back to his family, his human," he said the word sharply, "family. Tried to live a normal life. You can't...the hunger changes all that...He failed. He turned them all, one by one, trying to cling on to what humanity he had left. But the hunger tricks you, Jenny. It fools you..." She finally turned to face him, he looked almost human.

"We don't come back as ghosts. We are already dead."

"Except for this place," she said quietly. "Your ghosts, Wyndam." He smiled, grimly.

"Oh, I've made plenty of those..."

"It's never happened anywhere else, as far as I'm aware. Sometimes when we die, it isn't the end..." He was choosing his words very carefully, she could tell. He was keeping something back, that was obvious.

"How did they die?" The sharp look.

"Driven into a barn...crosses all around...cut down when they tried to escape...burnt...hacked...anything but..." he stopped himself. He'd said too much as it was.

"But what?" she said quietly. He hesitated, turning away from her. He looked back at the circle.

"Nothing grows there...too much of our blood was spilt here..." Jenny got just an inkling of something. They were killed the_ wrong_ way...

"She was killed here, too, wasn't she? Bathilda?" He nodded, without looking at her. The humans had paid the price for destroying an Old One's protégé. It had seemed strangely appropriate to meet out their punishment here. Jenny's mind turned back to the circle.

"They were trapped here twice, weren't they?" She really was almost too perceptive, he thought.

"Yes...their bodies lay...whatever 'soul' or 'spirit' remained...whatever we have in us...it couldn't leave them...they weren't...they were never released..."

"Neither flesh, nor spirit...a living, or dying, Hell, Wyndam..." It was his turn to look for any sign of malice, or contempt. All he saw was a pair of kind grey eyes watching him closely. He smiled, wearily.

"Probably no more than we deserve...but they were different...they were surviving without killing humans...that is very difficult for my kind. And pointless, anyway..." She was curious.

"Why?"

"The hunger will always win. It comes back worse. They denied what they were..."

"What happened to their bodies? Surely something could have been...they could have been laid to rest..." He gave a callous laugh.

"They were eventually pushed over that cliff...into the sea...God knows where the sea took them...she doesn't always give up her dead..."

_They had been too young, no heirs to bring them back, and even if the bodies had been found...they wouldn't have come back...right..._

"Then how did you know..." He ignored her question.

"He apparently begged them to let his child go..." the look of distaste as he said it, as though it was a shameful weakness. "The child hadn't yet been turned..." He saw her react. "It's normally to keep a family together, but other times..." he thought of Hetty, that most malign of the younger recruits. But Hetty was a survivor, not many fools got past her. That much venom and sheer wickedness in a child...it often took his breath away just how...

"But they haven't lived...they are innocent...that's not..."

"Fair?" He shook his head, his own temper was rising. "We are all damned from the moment we are turned. We don't get another chance. There is no second chance for us, even if we had no choice...that's what they don't understand...we are thrown back...when we cross that line..." He threw his hand out towards the circle.

"We are here to be the demons...the monsters in the dark...so they can be redeemed..." He pointed to the pit. "We are in our Hell...they are in their Heaven...and they don't even realise it. Are they thankful? Not a hope. They sell their souls for a pittance, and fool themselves that God will save them, God will provide..."

"That doesn't make you any better than them. You kill to..." she said it without thinking. She heard the intake of breath. "Once you take a life..." he smiled at her certainty, remembering the conversation.

"We compromise every day, vampires and humans alike." She was thoughtful.

"What normally happens when...?"

"We die for good?" She nodded.

"We fade to dust, to nothing. All those years...no one has ever come back...not from the final end...not as 'spirits' or ghosts, or whatever..."

"Apart from here..." He agreed.

"Apart from here..." She breathed in, pensive.

"This is where you kill me, isn't it?" He turned the searching gaze on her.

"No," he said it gently. "I will keep my word. You will have a life. I will keep you safe. You are too valuable..." That angered her. She rounded on him.

"A prize, in other words?" He sighed.

"Your abilities will help keep you and Isobel alive. You must have worked that out for yourself. I had to be sure." She was glaring at him, darkly.

"I don't want you to die...I want you to live, Jenny. A time may come..."

"When you kill me?" Direct as ever, he thought.

"When I will ask you a question...but not now...I want you to have a future..." She knew where this was going.

_Hell would freeze over..._

"Time gets the better of us all, Jenny...that hourglass runs faster than you think..." She broke away from his gaze.

"Why did you bring me here, Wyndam?"

"I want them released. I would have thought that was obvious..." An ironic smile, all pain seemingly gone.

"They _are_ at peace, Wyndam." He scoffed at that. The voices were getting louder and louder to Jenny, as though they were strengthening. She could just make out the loudest one.

"Another one, Wyndam? Where did you get this one from?" Jenny spun around, her anger still flaring.

"What do you mean, _this_ one?" The loudest voice went silent. Wyndam laughed.

"At peace? Oh yes..." He rolled his eyes. She felt the 'spirit' buckle.

"You failed us in life, you continue to fail us in death, Wyndam...this is no laughing matter..." His expression turned grave.

"No it is not...and I would remind you who you are speaking to..." he said steely. The 'spirit' seemed to falter at that.

"You weren't an Old One then, Wyndam...you said you would look after us...we were your family..." Jenny saw a flash of temper in his eyes, then the control was back. An Old One?

"And I did. I am not responsible for...I warned you all to vanish; especially as you weren't feeding...you were weaker than you should have been..." He seemed to remember that Jenny was standing beside him.

"Sorry, vampire family squabbles...worse than humans, our's can last _centuries..."_ His eyes flicked towards the circle again.

"You're here, aren't you?" Jenny could hear a different voice now, a more resigned one.

"Yes, Edgar...will it work?"

"Who knows? It can't hurt...she is a remarkable creature..." He knew the reaction he would get.

"She is standing here!" Jenny heard a deep chuckle coming from the circle.

"And brave too...standing in this place...in the middle of nowhere...with you...Did you give her a choice, Edgar?" Wyndam appeared to be weighing Jenny up and down.

"She came here of her own free will. She chose to come with me." Jenny was watching him attentively. Whatever 'spirit' was there fell silent.

"Any last words?" Wyndam stood, stock still. They both heard a loud sigh.

"Let it end..."

"Jenny..." He raised his right hand.

"I can't...I don't know how..." she could hear a voice in her head...the softest whisper...

_You have to do this...she'll be safe...you have to release them...end their pain...let them go on...you know how to do this...it's in you...it's your gift..._

Her eyes shot to Wyndam, but she knew instinctively that it wasn't his voice.

"Try," he said softly. He was waiting patiently. She guessed that was something he didn't do often. He grinned. She began to walk around the edge of the circle, not sure why she was doing so. This is madness, she thought. I don't know what I'm doing, I'm not a witch...She focused her thoughts on one aim, set them free...let them go...She kept walking slowly round the circle. She could feel such a strange mixture of fear and resignation.

"Let go…why are you afraid…there's nothing worse waiting there for you…than this Hell…" She was feeling light-headed. "You're fighting it…but it won so long ago…" She was almost in a trance.

"Let go…you were brave…then…you are brave now…let go…" Where did that come from, she thought in passing. The 'spirit' spoke;

"We kept fighting…'til the end…they kept coming…none of us wanted to…"

"There was nothing we could have done," Wyndam's voice cut in. "they'd been waiting for their chance…they took it…we're the last…let go…" The 'spirit' was wavering, now the end was near.

"They gave us a wonderful gift, Edgar…" Wyndam nodded, slowly, his face set.

"A terrible gift…let go…"

Jenny felt the wind pick up. The night had been calm until then. She kept walking.

"Let it go…let it end…" She could see a faint, white mist in the centre of the circle. It rose up, a shapeless mist that seemed to change colour in the moonlight, to a silver-grey mass floating in the air. She started to speak words that she didn't understand, a language she didn't know…She was drawn to the mist, as though if she could only reach it, she could stop the pain…she reached out to towards it…

"Let go…" she said, more loudly this time. Whatever force was there, it threw her back. She hit something solid, and lost consciousness for a moment. She missed the 'spirit's final words. As the mist melted upwards into the air, Wyndam heard his old friend say;

"Let her go…before it's too late…"

She came round to find Wyndam beaming down at her.

"It worked! I have to admit I didn't think you could do it…I misjudged you. Maybe you are…"

"I'm not a…" she said, half-heartedly.

"Witch? No, but you have old blood in you, and old knowledge…" He helped her to her feet. She saw blood on his hands. Was that her blood? He saw her freeze.

"You hit your head quite hard…might have knocked some sense into you…" the familiar grin. "You also cut your leg…" She lifted her skirt just a little. There was blood there, on her left shin. She looked warily up at him.

"Jenny, I'm over six hundred years old, do you really think I can't _control…_woman, you really do need to learn how to trust…" She looked over at the circle. Whatever was there, it had vanished.

"What was I saying," she was still faint. Had he fed from her again? "I didn't know the words…where are we?"

"We are in Wales. Not sure what you were speaking, sounded a bit…Welsh…probably some old Celtic strain…I'm not quite that old…" He smiled, a gleam in his eye. "Not one of my languages…you pick up the odd one over the years…we tend to travel…" Her look of surprise amused him. "Well it tends to be, "Oh my God," and "Please don't kill me…" She smiled, weakly. There was a dull throbbing in her head now.

"This place was a refuge for your kind…wasn't it?" He glanced sharply at her.

"More a stronghold…the Dark Times…some retreated…cut themselves off from humanity, and their own kind…this place was remote…"

"Not remote enough, Wyndam…" she said softly. She changed the subject.

"How could I do that?" He handed her the saddlebag, the familiar routine. Eat something, drink something. They sat down on the damp earth. She cleaned the cut on her leg the best she could. He waited a while before speaking.

"Seers are a bridge, or a link between the two worlds. No one's quite sure where your kind came from. Human, but not quite…" She was doubtful.

"You expect me to believe that?" He shrugged.

"It's the truth, Jenny. You've always known you were different…" She looked away, unsure.

Wyndam looked up at the sky. The stars were glinting in the ink black night.

"Time to go." He gazed over at the circle. How many of his kind had perished that night, so long ago? The blood that had been shed in revenge…don't dwell on the past…it can't be changed…the future was what mattered…

He got to his feet, and offered Jenny his hand. She took it without hesitating. A small victory, he thought.

They were ready to leave, when Wyndam turned his horse around. Jenny watched him with interest. He bowed his head, and closed his eyes, like a sinner praying at an altar. He's saying goodbye, she thought. He opened his eyes, and spun his horse around.

"We'll take the higher path back, I think." That led away from the sea. Jenny interrupted him.

"But…" He waited for her to finish. "Can't we take that path?" She pointed to an overgrown path that led downwards. "It's just that…I haven't seen the sea in…I've always lived near the sea…until we came to Lancashire…" They would be near the edge though…

"Well if you want to take the long way back…" She smiled, more certainly.

"After you…"

Jenny's fingers were numb with cold. The reins kept slipping through them. This night seemed endless. And so cold. She kept drifting into a doze, then snapping awake.

"That's it…we are stopping for the night. You nearly fell off that time…" She was reluctant to stop, she wanted home to Isobel…

"There's an inn about a mile off. We'll stop there. A few hours rest, then home." He knew from past experience it wasn't a vampire establishment, there should be no keen eyes to sear over her. She must be tired, he thought, she hadn't argued.

The landlord looked the couple up and down. Not the usual kind who appeared on the doorstep, in the middle of the night. The woman looked exhausted, must have been a long journey…

"Only got the one room…" The woman's head rose at that, the look she gave the man…

"The lady will take that," said the soft-spoken man, "and she will want the key…" Odd couple, thought the landlord. He went to fetch the key anyway.

"Such a disapproving look, Jenny…"

"Eyes in the back of your head, Wyndam?" He laughed, and pointed to a small mirror pinned behind the bar. He enjoyed the look of surprise.

"Yes…no reflection…" He reached over the bar, and nudged the mirror from its hook. It smashed on the wooden floor. The landlord returned. Wyndam sighed.

"Strange that…this place isn't haunted, is it?" The landlord was wearing a confused expression. Jenny got the feeling he did that a lot.

The room she was shown to was sparsely furnished, but clean. Wyndam stayed with the landlord in the doorway, as she closed the door, turning the key in the lock.

"You're not going in?" said the landlord.

"No…an argument…women…I'll leave her to calm down…" said Wyndam, wryly. There was the first little jab of the dark voice, nipping at him. He'd fed before going to the cottage. He'd only taken enough to satisfy the urge, not enough to numb the hunger. That was a rare lapse in judgement. He chose a different seat downstairs in the tavern from his usual one; normally in the darkest corner, tonight he chose to sit facing the fire. The usual drunks, heads on tables, sleeping it off. A woman swept the floor around them. A tired heartbeat. Worn out, not long 'til she…He glanced at the narrow wooden staircase, before resting his head on the panelling behind him. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep. He got barely half an hour's rest before the hunger woke him, as sharp as a dagger. He looked again at the staircase. If he went up those stairs…he would kill her without thinking. The dark voice was demanding its due. He gazed around the room at the stragglers. Too public. He took a swig of the ale in front of him.

Six hundred years of this…a neverending hunger…a burning hatred in his veins…eternal life…eternal hunger…eternal death…

_Wake up…_

Her eyes flashed open. She knew he was in the room. She pulled herself upright in the bed. Wyndam was sitting on the bed, watching her. The black eyes. She tensed.

"Why won't he let me kill you?" he said. "We've killed so many…never enough…but he won't let me kill you…" She could feel the hunger coursing through him. The moonlight was falling on his face. She could see faint dark veins under his skin. "I can smell your blood…I can almost taste it…" he leaned forward to stroke her neck.

"There's a darkness in you…" he said quietly. She caught her breath.

"A darkness to come…or already there…?"

"Both," he replied. She gasped, but she held his gaze. She reached out her hand, to touch his face. He leaned his face into it, allowing the connection. He'd let her in before, if she could just…

"You think you can save me, Jenny? I can't be saved…" There was no anger there, just an acceptance. She stroked his face, gently.

"No…just give you some peace, perhaps, if only for a while…You see something in me, don't you?" The vampire's mouth twitched. "What?" she asked.

"Two lost souls…" he said.

"Yes…"

"I was lost a long time ago…" he said, subdued.

"So was I…" she shivered as she said it. The black eyes disappeared. The blue eyes met her gaze.

"I want your warmth, your humanity…they'd be the first things to go if I turned you…" She was blinking away tears.

"You see the real me…the one who failed…" she whispered.

"You will kill me, Wyndam. Tonight…tomorrow…next week…next month…that's why I can't see further, isn't it?" She was shaking with fear now. His face was so still.

"They are protecting you from something. I don't know what...you've got closer than anyone in over six hundred years..."

"You need to feed..." she murmured. He pulled away first, breaking the connection. It physically hurt her to let go. He walked slowly over to the door.

"Lock this behind me..." She called after him;

"So someone else pays the price...what does that make me...hoping that someone else dies, instead of me?"

"Human..." he said bluntly, closing the door behind him.

A knock on the door.

"Miss...Madam..." A timid voice. Jenny unlocked the door, bleary-eyed. A scrap of a child stood.

"Miss...The gentleman says if you're not down soon, he's leaving without you..." She thanked the child, then she looked out of the window. All she could see was a white blur. She smeared the condensation on the glass. Snow...

She made her way downstairs, uncertain what she'd find. Wyndam was sat at a table, speaking to the landlord. He was moaning about how a customer had been found, his neck broken. Jenny's eyes met his. A dark look of understanding.

"Tragic...so easy...a false step..." The landlord waved his hand.

"Yes, but he was a drunken sod at the best of times...battered his wife...the Almighty took him before she had to swing for him..."

The ride back was a quiet one. It was as though nothing had happened the night before. Jenny spoke first.

"Isobel will love the snow. She's only seen it once, in Durham..." Wyndam shook his head.

"It's too cold," he grimaced. He stayed silent for the rest of the journey. She'd clearly got too close...

He left her at the cottage with barely a word. She hurried on to the village. Isobel was bursting with news.

"Mr Burnett told me about the stars...it was so cold...Ruth and me threw snowballs...She can't find one of her kittens...I didn't take it...honest Mum..." Burnett stood, a wide grin on his face.

"She's quite..."

"A handful?" said Jenny, clipping her daughter's ear.

"My wife enjoyed every minute. Did everything go...?" Isobel looked up at her mother. She hadn't said a word. Mr Burnett had asked if anything was worrying her mother. She'd answered;

"Just me..." Grown-up stuff...secrets...

"Yes...thank you...Come on Isobel..."

_She was so tired._

"He said there was a star called Pegasus..."

"That's a constellation..." _So tired..._

"Yes...that's what I meant...and there's one called..."

_She would need to take something to help her sleep. She didn't like to...if Isobel needed her..._

"And I got Matthew a good one...he cheated...he put a stone in his snowball..."

_So full of life...she wished she had half of Isobel's energy..._

"Yes, sweetheart...I'll show you the stars tomorrow night..."

"But Mum..." Isobel protested.

There was no one on watch, that was odd...

"Isobel..." sighed Jenny.

Her mother won't mind. Not really. She won't know if she's really quiet. She knows where her mother keeps the keys. The front door one is always under her pillow. The back door one is in the kitchen, hanging on a hook by the fire. She can just reach it if she stands on the chair...she just wants to see the stars...

_So tired..._

Then just a whisper in her sleep-worn mind.

_Danger..._

"Isobel..." and she's running...


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

There's a smirr of rain...that's what her mother would say. She hopes it won't wash away all the snow. She likes the nip in the air, the cold tingle in her fingers when she rolls a snowball between them, the mist her breath makes when she breathes out. She's been lying awake, for what feels like hours. Her mother won't know...she just wants to see if the stars really move in the sky. Mr Burnett said they did, and he's older than her mother, so he must be right...Her mother looked so tired when she came for her, like all the cares of the world were on her, that's what she heard Mrs Burnett whisper to her husband. She's not really disobeying her mother...just being a bit naughty...

She throws back the bedclothes and tiptoes into the kitchen. She drags the chair over a little, the better to reach the keys, and slips them from the hook above the fire. She glances guiltily over at her mother's bedroom door for a moment, then steps down quickly. The door is ajar slightly, as usual. She can hear her mother's breathing, slow and steady. She moves quietly towards the door, just to make sure her mother is really asleep. She knows her mum gets lonely. She gets sad when her mum's lonely...she's heard her talk in her sleep...

"I didn't...why did you take it...I didn't want you to..." Another time:

"Why...stop them...that's...my mother...Father...stop them..."

Her mother cries in her sleep...Isobel watches her when she sleeps sometimes...she knows her mother can "see" things. Jenny's said something about Isobel not having the "gift". Isobel's glad she doesn't...

Another night;

"I'm sorry...I didn't know...I should've given it to...I didn't know..."

That's the really bad dream, the one her mother wakes from in a cold sweat. Isobel knows something...bad...happened to her mother. She knows her grandmother died young, that's all Jenny's told her. They've moved around so many times...Isobel's happy here. She's been taught not to speak to strangers...do nothing to stand out...She's made friends here, proper friends. Some of the other children talk about her behind her back, she knows that. How she doesn't have a father...but then, some of them don't have one either. A few are scared of her mother. She just laughs at them. She heard one boy call her mother a bad name. Ruth knocked him to the ground.

"No, she's not. You've got so many 'uncles'; your mother can't remember which one's your real one…" Ruth had asked her where they came from. Isobel replied;

"I don't know. We move around…"

Jenny stirs in her sleep. Isobel holds her breath. She'll be back before her mother wakes up, she just wants to see the stars…and the fox too…she knows it comes past this way, like the deer…Her mother turns towards the door, her eyes still closed. She's now facing the door, but she's fast asleep. A peaceful sleep too, like the one she had when Mr Wyndam stayed when he was ill, she thinks. She likes Mr Wyndam. He makes her mother smile…even though she doesn't want to…she doesn't do it often, she's so pretty when she smiles…If she's really quiet…and she's not going far anyway…the men are there to keep them safe…

She catches sight of the moon, through the kitchen window. It's so big and bright and white tonight…a witching moon, she'd heard her mother call it once. Her mother doesn't know…Mr Wyndam watches over her too. She's seen him, herself. She'd woken thirsty, the door had been open. Isobel saw him sitting on the bed, stroking her mother's face, telling her to sleep, to rest, everything would be fine…he'd bent as if to kiss her wrist…He'd seen her, she thought he would tell her off…He put his finger to his lips…

"She's safe, Isobel…go back to sleep…our secret…"

She hurries back to the kitchen, remembering something, and rummages in the larder. She grabs her cloak, turns the key in the lock, looks behind herself once more, then she lifts the latch on the back door…

She can hear a snuffling sound. The fox is there. She's brought her cub. He's big now, almost as big as his mother. Isobel has brought some food with her. The fox is wary, but she comes to her. The smell of the food is drawing her to Isobel. She knows the child won't hurt her, she trusts her enough to bring her little one. Isobel holds out her hand, the fox stops, then sniffs cautiously at her hand. Isobel smiles, her hand touches the soft fur on the vixen's muzzle. The fox should snap, growl or flee, but she doesn't. She lets the child stroke her. The cub whimpers. The vixen turns, yelps to him. The cub moves forward, so slowly, still suspicious. That's when Isobel hears something move nearby. The foxes break away, darting to the left. The vixen is snarling, her teeth are bared…Isobel can't see what's making them afraid…then she hears a low growl, a rumbling growl…like nothing she's ever heard before…The leaves rustle as it moves…it's bigger than the foxes…she can see big, bright eyes…they shine in the moonlight…

Danger…the faintest of whispers…

"Isobel…"

Jenny snapped awake. Something was wrong…

"Isobel…" she whispered, stumbling from her bed. She ran through the kitchen to Isobel's room, throwing the door open. A bundle under the bedclothes…she poked it sharply, then pulled back the blanket. Heaped up clothes…Isobel…what have you…she dashed back to the kitchen. She was playing a game, hiding, she had to be, the key was under her own pillow…but…her eyes went to the hook, by the fire…the chair that was just out of place…too near the fire…the shiver of fear…What have you done, Isobel?

Jenny's hand grabbed the latch…the unlocked back door…out into the bitter cold, in her bare feet, her nightdress pitifully thin against the winter night…

The child can't believe what she's seeing. It's eyes…It's sniffing the air, as if to see what she is…It's so big, much bigger than she is, and it's teeth…they are so…She's frozen to the spot. If she doesn't move, it won't see her…she closes her eyes, and opens them slowly. It's not a dream…it's still there. She tries to open her mouth to speak, but no noise comes out. It's watching her, it's waiting…she steps back, just a little…a twig snaps…the big…dog…creature…whatever it is…lets out a loud snarl…it's teeth are bigger than the foxes…and they are bared at her…she raises her hands…don't hurt me…she realises she has the chunk of meat she was going to feed to the foxes in her hand…It's still waiting, and watching her. She throws the meat at the creature. It lands just to the left of…it. The creature's eyes focus on the food for just a moment…Isobel thinks, if I move now…but the creature's bright eyes have fastened back on her…it snarls again, angry somehow, and moves closer…

Jenny ran out, her eyes scanning desperately for any sign of her daughter. The moonlight shone down on small footprints in the snow. They led out from the cottage, round the outside of the small stable, into the trees…

"Isobel?" She cried out, first barely a whisper, not wanting to catch the ears of the vampire who would be on watch…She knew they were safe in the cottage, the younger vampires couldn't gain entry, but Isobel was out here alone, and there was no way she trusted any of the watchers with her child…

"Isobel?" She called her name louder this time, the desperation more evident. "I won't be angry…Isobel…" A faint cry, in answer…a whimper…If they've so much as…I'll…she felt that pull of hate, and fear…A soft mumbling, like a stammer, came from her right. She ran round the corner of the stable like the Devil himself was at her heels, pulling up so sharply at the sight before her...Isobel kneeling in the snow, shaking with fear, her eyes wide...before a..._dear God,_ she thought, _that's a...no...It can't be..._

The werewolf took in the new human, its eyes widening then narrowing, as it seemed to consider her...a threat or a meal...Jenny moved slowly, so slowly towards Isobel, her hands in mid-air, as if to appease the creature. Where were the vampires?

"Isobel," she whispered so gently, "Isobel...get behind me..." The only sound the child could make was another whimper. Jenny breathed in, then hardened her tone.

"Isobel...get up slowly, and come behind me..." Her daughter remained rooted to the spot, her eyes so wide and white with terror now. Her lips trembled as she said;

"I'm...sorry...Mum...I didn't mean..." Jenny breathed out; she was measuring the distance between the creature and Isobel in her head. It was too close...

"I know, sweetheart...it doesn't matter..." she said in a low voice. Isobel started to pull herself up, inch by inch. The werewolf snarled again...This is not happening, thought Jenny, as it moved stealthily forward, its head lowering, shoulders hunching...shifting its weight...

"Ssh..." her eyes were fixed on the creature's. She was searching for the human behind those eyes...was it afraid, too, or was it rage that she could see...

"Isobel...when I tell you to...you will run..." Keep calm, don't raise your voice, soft and low...

"No!" Her daughter shook her head violently. The werewolf's head raised, its teeth bared again; a deep, low growl...Jenny could see something around its neck, just visible among the matted fur...a tether of some kind...what the...

"You will run and get back home...do you hear me...as quickly as you can...and you will close and bolt that door behind you..." The werewolf's head tilted, just a fraction...Where was the watcher? A Full Moon shining in the sky...

"No...I won't..." Isobel's eyes shot to her mother's. She knew what it meant...Jenny couldn't look away...those eyes...blink and it would attack...

"Yes, you will, do you understand? You will run and not look back..." She would have a chance...

Isobel had managed to creep behind her mother, and she clung to her, not willing to let go.

"No," she insisted, "the men will..." Jenny bit her tongue, before replying;

"They are not here..." She had no one to blame but herself. She'd gotten too comfortable...too relaxed...

"We have to look to ourselves, Isobel...have it your own way...we will move back together...slowly..." She went to step back, but the werewolf's jaws snapped, as if to say; "No...You will not move..." All the while Jenny's eyes never left the creature's. It knows you...she thought...it knows what you are...it knows you failed...Instinct was telling her to run, but...there was something there...her hands were reaching out towards it...to Isobel's horror...

"Mother...no..." Jenny ignored her, drawn to the creature. It was weighing her up, so closely, its mouth began to open...

"Isobel...when I say go...you will go..." but the child was refusing to let go of Jenny, if anything, her grip strengthened, tearing at her mother's nightgown.

"It won't hurt me, Isobel..." That was a lie; her daughter knew it, a big lie...its teeth...no...she would not let go...

Jenny could see the tether more clearly now. It was like some kind of collar...a short broken chain hung from it...

"What happened to you?" She said aloud. It was watching her intently; it seemed to be making its decision. The werewolf stood motionless, then it lowered its head, it seemed to know what she was saying, but that was insane...

"Steady..." she said quietly, lowering her hands slowly in response, jumping back as the werewolf jerked its head round at a noise coming from the trees. A snorting sound, then the jingle of a horse's bit...a drunken voice...a watcher? The werewolf snarled, scenting the horse and its rider. It let out a blood-curdling howl...Jenny didn't even glance at the rider, she spun round, taking the chance that fate had given her, grabbed Isobel's hand and made for the cottage as fast as she could. _Run...hide..._

Isobel stumbled, she let go of her mother's hand. Jenny screamed; _"No..."_ From the corner of her eye she saw the rider stop and stare at the werewolf...Ramsey...the absolute shock on his now-sober face...a wolf...Then his horse screamed in terror, as the creature lunged after them...

Jenny hauled Isobel up in her arms, and fled for the cottage. She was holding her so tightly, her head buried against her chest, but she couldn't shut out the terrible screams...

She made for the open back door, thinking she couldn't help Ramsey, she could only help Isobel and herself...She could hear choking, gurgling cries from behind her, as she slammed the door shut. She dropped Isobel to the floor in her haste to bolt and lock the door. Isobel cowered on the floor, her eyes riveted to her mother. Jenny backed away from the door. It was solid; it might hold...She could hear anguished gasps coming from outside...

"Isobel, get to your room. Hide under the bed, it can't get in there, the window's too small..." She was looking around desperately for something, anything, to use against...it was a werewolf, it was no dream, a nightmare, certainly, but it was real...Isobel was shaking, rocking back and forth on her heels, her eyes now locked on the door, waiting...

Jenny's fingers felt for the sharp kitchen knife she knew sat in the drawer, then she realised the noises had stopped...she froze, not daring to look at her daughter. They were both thinking the same thing...It was there outside...

A loud thud at the door...a raspy, heavy breathing...then a howl...She motioned to Isobel for her to get to her room. This time, the child didn't need to be told twice. She hurried to her room, and slipped under the frame, covering her ears with her hands. Jenny pulled the door shut after her, gripping the knife in her hand so tightly. If it got inside...She held her breath, and waited. She could hear a padding, crunching sound outside. The werewolf seemed to be circling the cottage._ A low growl...that became a fierce snarl...A horse's whinny...cracking sounds...pistol shots...yells...an unearthly yelping...men's voices..._

"Did you get it?" She didn't recognise the voice.

"I hit it...think I hit it twice..." a familiar voice.

"Is that...Ramsey?" said the first voice.

"It _was_ Ramsey..." Jenny placed the voice. Harper...

"It's injured...there's a blood trail..." She moved hesitantly towards the door, not believing the danger was over. She peered through the kitchen window, but she couldn't see the men.

"We'll have to go after it," she heard Harper say.

"Go after a wolf? Are you mad? There are only two of us," said the other man.

"A wolf, or Wyndam?" Harper said simply. "Jacob, it can't have long 'til it changes back...it's wounded...it's losing blood..."

"Good point," sighed Jacob, but he still sounded reluctant to go anywhere near the wolf. She heard Harper take a deep breath.

"I'll do it, just stay here." The sound of footsteps getting closer to the cottage. A loud knock on the front door. Harper called out;

"Miss, are you alright? You're not hurt?" Jenny gazed back at Isobel's door.

"No...We're alright..." I hope, she thought.

"Good. We are dealing with...stay inside..." She heard him move away from the door. Precious minutes slipped by, until she heard Harper's voice again.

"There it is...it's dead..." She had to see it; she had to know it was gone...

"Stay there, Isobel..." She was suddenly aware of how cold she was, the shock registering at last. She reached for a shawl, and unlocked the door, her hands shaking. She stepped out warily, her eyes flitting over the scene. She couldn't see Jacob Carter, but she could see Harper standing over...what was left of Ramsey. The werewolf had torn him apart...so much blood...She saw Harper kneel down and stab the chest...the body...the separate pieces...all seemed to crumble...like ashes in a fire...she saw him lift the weapon...a piece of sharp wood...

"What about the wolf?" Her eyes made out the figure of Jacob. He was standing over a prone figure about twenty feet away.

"Take the body back..." Harper said it without looking up.

"Will he want it skinned?" Carter said, kicking the figure, just to make sure. He'd seen a fight where...

"Keep your voice down. No, burn it," was the reply. Harper's head rose, he knew Jenny was watching. He stood, brushing the dust that had been Ramsey from his clothes.

"Jacob, get back to the manor, we need help to clear this...mess...it's almost dawn...we don't want to draw any more attention..." Jenny took the hint and slipped back to the cottage. Harper waited until Jacob had ridden off, before turning back towards the cottage. He paused at the door. He could hear the woman's strained voice. She was yelling at her daughter.

"Were you...Isobel, look at me..." He moved over to the window. The woman was kneeling down at her daughter's height, holding her at arms length.

"It's very important, Isobel...were you scratched? Did the...wolf scratch you?" The child was sobbing her heart out.

"No...Mum..." but it wasn't enough for the woman. She was examining the child closely. Harper heard the woman gasp. He saw the child flinch.

"How did you get this...?" There was fear in the woman's voice. She was looking at one of the child's legs...

"Ruth's cat, Mum...she nipped me...and she scratched me..." More sobs, but the woman was determined.

"Is that true, Isobel? Are you telling me the truth?" The child was wide-eyed now.

"Yes, Mum..."

She knows about wolves, thought Harper...she knows about their curse...one scratch...

The child started, she'd seen him at the window. Jenny swung round, just in time to see his face vanish. Oh God, she thought, he'd have heard everything...She stroked Isobel's face, her fingers trembling, then she kissed her forehead.

"You were very brave tonight, sweetheart. Are you telling me the truth?" Isobel nodded, solemnly. Jenny smiled weakly, then she took her daughter's hand. "You go to your bed now. I'll tuck you in. The bad wolf's gone...it can't hurt you..." There was time for recriminations in the morning. If the vampires hadn't come...

Harper stood gazing down at the werewolf's body. He was waiting for the woman to appear. He knew she would. She stood a little way back from him.

"Is this your first?" said Harper, his eyes not moving from the body.

"Yes...I thought they were a myth..." That was another lie she'd told herself...

The vampire turned slightly to regard her. She was chalk-white, her pale eyes seemed ghostly hollow in the fading moonlight. She was studiously avoiding the greyish dust that was now bleeding into the snow...because she could still hear the cries in her head...

He gestured for her to come closer. Those scared eyes...

"You need to see this...it's gone..." She stepped forward cautiously, not knowing what to expect. Harper moved to one side. She gazed down at the bruised body of a man, not a wolf. She could see the wounds that had killed him. Harper was a fine shot; the man had taken two pistol shots to the chest. She bent to look at the man's face. Deep claw marks ran down the side of one cheek, and down his neck...her fingers traced the scars, then touched the collar. Why was that around his neck? She didn't think she really wanted to know the answer to that question...She undid the collar. His suffering was ended. Please let her be telling me the truth, she thought...

"We'll move the body...clear up...nothing will be left to..." Harper said it as though it was spilt milk on a kitchen floor, and not...She was feeling so nauseous, it came on her so suddenly, she couldn't stop it. Harper said nothing, remembering the first time he'd seen a wolf. He looked away over at Ramsey's ashes. They weren't even supposed to be here...

They'd been rewarded for their efforts in Manchester with an evening at The Glass Half Full. Lizzie the barmaid had read the letters Wyndam had sent with them. She gazed up at Harper with interest. A sweet smile.

"Mr Wyndam must think highly of you, Mr Harper...Jacob only got a 'pleasant time'...Her smile had widened at Harper's puzzled look, then she showed him the letter.

"Whatever he wants..." was all it said, along with Wyndam's signature.

"The cruellest heart," was Harper's request. And it had been waiting for him in the cellar. The 'loving' father who had sent his daughter to the Glass, knowing full well what would happen...

They'd been making their way back to the manor, past the turning for Whitekirk, when Harper had sensed something...Jacob was still blood drunk, and argumentative;

"You and that woman...someone will be on watch...she's his mistress, James, his human _'pet'..._" He'd closed his mouth quickly at Harper's glare.

"I'm just going to make sure," said Harper. He had an eye on the Full Moon, nothing good ever happened on one of those...Ramsey ended, but the woman and child were in one piece...

Jenny stood, her eyes downcast.

"Mr Harper, could you help me back to my home, my legs don't feel..." He put out an arm just in time for her to catch as she stumbled. He steadied her, but she wouldn't look at him, she was afraid of showing weakness, but her body was in shock. He helped her back to the front door, but stopped dead, as though there was an invisible barrier there. She stood just inside the doorway.

"You really can't come in, can you? It's like a force that pushes you back..." she said, understanding it a little better. Harper smiled, but he didn't answer.

"What would happen if you came in, against my wishes?" She was curious, the protection was there for a reason, yet Wyndam could get in...

"It burns," he said simply. He'd seen a vampire attempt it. A human had run to ground in a house in Oxford. The vampire had been so sure of himself, that he could break the rule. Wyndam had stood, a gleam in his eye. He said;

"Don't believe me then...Try it..." The vampire had refused to listen to the Old One...so sure...He'd only got a foot inside when he had caught fire...like Hell was opening it's gates just for him..."Lesson learned," Wyndam had said, dispassionately...

Jenny cast an eye back at Isobel's door, and made a decision. The Bible and cross worked on Harper, she was still uneasy. He had always been straight with her...

"Mr Harper, once a human gives you permission to enter, can they take it back?" He answered her quickly.

"Yes, but why would you..." Her heartbeat was racing, he could hear it pounding. He realised that she didn't want to be alone, she was still afraid.

"Mr Harper, please come in..." she said it calmly. He stepped over the threshold automatically; a vampire rarely refused an invitation. He stood nervously in the middle of the room, looking around himself. The furniture was well-worn, but the cottage felt...warm...right...It was clearly a home. Maybe that was why Wyndam kept coming here...They moved every so often, when the bodies piled too high, when too many people disappeared, the threat of disclosure was there at all times...Jenny was shaking, her eyes kept flicking to one of the doors. A gentle sobbing came from behind it.

"I'm sorry for shouting, Isobel," she said, pulling nervously at her shawl. She turned around to face Harper.

"How can Wyndam enter without an invitation?" Not Edgar, or Mr Wyndam, thought Harper. He sighed.

"I don't know. He's an Old One...they don't always tell us everything." She nodded, as though that explained it.

"And he's six hundred years old, more or less?" Harper was surprised at that, Wyndam discussing his age with a human.

"So I believe. He was around at Hastings," he broke off, watching her reactions. She was still shaking with fear, but there was anger there too. Some vampires loved fear; they craved it as much as the blood, but not Harper. It reminded him of the look in his Bec's eyes as she passed, and he never wanted to see that again. He killed quickly, clinically, the way he'd been taught. He lowered his eyes, and said;

"When I leave, you must say that I am not welcome. I won't hold it against you. It's for your own safety." He knew she was looking at him with those eyes...

"Does he have to know?" Harper gazed at the door, not trusting himself to look at her. He could let her go...she'd have a little time to get away...madness...Wyndam would track her down...

"Yes. It's not a question of me being...I don't care what he'd do to me, but you and the child..." She interrupted him;

"Her name is Isobel." He smiled at her attempts to make a connection. Humans did that, thinking it made a difference...He was following orders...Carter had already gone for help, there was no time...

"You can't deceive him. If he isn't told, he will be angry, and that's not good..." he couldn't put it any more plain. She recognised a warning when she saw one.

"You have to act as you see fit...You can't let me go, he would come after me anyway," she sounded so resigned, as she poked the fire into life.

"He's let us live so far..." she said quietly, her eyes on the waking flames.

_"Harper?"_ Jacob's voice...he was back far too quickly for his liking.

"Have you a blanket for..." She cut him off.

"The body?" She was sharp...

"Yes." She fetched one from her room, and handed it to him. He hesitated for a moment, then he handed her a pistol. Jenny looked at him as though he was a madman.

"They are usually lone creatures, but just in case..." She nodded mutely at him, then stared down at the pistol. He opened the door to an astonished Carter, stepping past him without saying a word. He didn't see her react as though she'd been burned, as she swiftly dropped the pistol on the kitchen table. She called after him;

"Mr Harper..." He turned. "You are _not_ welcome..." she said it so sadly. He nodded as she closed the door. Jacob stood, his mouth wide open. Harper could see Johnson standing some distance away, his face drawn, looking down at the werewolf.

"What were you doing?" hissed Jacob. Harper shrugged.

"Keeping her safe. Why aren't you at the manor?" It was Jacob's turn to shrug.

"I met Johnson. You said we needed help. Wyndam's not there."

"What?" Harper said, curtly. He was glaring at Johnson, who was visibly nervous. This happened on your watch, thought Harper. "Where is he?" Johnson looked round at him.

"I don't know..." That was no answer...Harper rounded on him.

"Why was Ramsey here? It was your turn..." Harper's attitude was grating on Johnson, he was the elder of the two, after all. He bit.

"How the Hell was I supposed to know there was a wolf on the loose? That's one of us dead there," he pointed to the ashes of Ramsey, "the woman's alive, isn't she?" Harper was getting angrier by the minute.

"We were told to keep her safe, not to draw attention to her, and you send Ramsey in your place? I hope whoever it was, was worth it..." He pushed roughly past Johnson, and bent down to roll the body into the blanket, then he began to kick at the snow to muddy the bloodstains in the snow. Jacob followed his lead, and began to gather up Ramsey's clothes.

"What about...?" Jacob pointed back at the cottage.

"She's not going anywhere," Harper said. She's accepted her fate, whatever it is, he thought. Time to find Wyndam...

He rode back to the manor with a sullen Johnson; the body of the werewolf was slung behind him. Jacob had been left behind to cover any traces of what had happened. There was a pit just beyond the manor, hidden by thick shrubs. Johnson hefted the body into the pit, and set fire to the body. Quicklime would take care of what remained. Harper, meanwhile, was keeping an eye out for Wyndam. He sent men out to find him, but it was late afternoon before his master rode in to the courtyard, a wide grin on his face. He won't have that for long, thought Harper.

"A fine winter's day, Harper." Wyndam dismounted, then he saw the taut look on his pupil's face.

"What is it? What's happened?" The searching look. Harper swallowed.

"We had some trouble last night. A wolf..." Wyndam's face clouded. A jolt ran down his spine.

"Where?" He knew without asking. _Whitekirk..._

"Near the lady's cottage...I killed it..." Harper straightened, waiting for the Old One's response. He saw the familiar possessed look appear on Wyndam's face. He wasn't looking at Harper, and that wasn't a good sign. He finally spoke, quietly;

"The woman and child?" Harper replied quickly.

"Safe. They saw it..." but something in his tone alerted Wyndam.

"There's something else, isn't there, Harper?" The younger vampire shifted from one foot to the other. Wyndam noticed his reluctance to speak. He said softly;

"Was the woman scratched?" _All that time, all that planning, all that winning her trust...if she's been scratched...he really didn't want to kill her...it would be a waste..._

"Harper, am I speaking to myself? Was the woman scratched?" His tone so deceptively calm...right before...

Harper felt himself being grabbed and thrown against the courtyard wall, opening his eyes to see Wyndam's jet black eyes searing into his, his hand gripping Harper's throat.

"I said, was she scratched?" Harper didn't' recoil, he croaked;

"No..." The soulless eyes...Wyndam released him as quickly as he'd attacked him. He stood, regaining control.

"And the child?" The calculating look was there. Harper hesitated again. Wyndam waited for the reply, flexing his fingers.

"She was outside...I don't know..." The blue eyes were fixed on him, looking for any hint of a lie...Harper held his gaze, and continued.

"The wolf tore Ramsey apart..." So not all bad news, thought Wyndam slyly. Ramsey was the weak link in the chain, his tongue was too loose, especially when drunk...the wolf had done him a favour...but if she's been scratched..."It was a collared wolf..." The Old One's head shot up at that. Someone had been running a dog...against instructions...he had a good idea who...Lizzie would be getting a promotion...

"Why were you near the cottage?" Harper shifted uneasily.

"I had a feeling...something wasn't right..." Wyndam stayed silent. That was how some vampires lasted, and others ended up as dust...that sense of when to act and when to run...He should move her, but she was safer in the cottage than anywhere else. The less people who knew about her, the better.

"Thank you, for your timely intervention, Harper. A fortuitous coincidence that you were nearby, but I'm sure the lady was grateful for your assistance…" The searching gaze…Harper pulled at his sleeves. Wyndam turned back to his horse, seemingly satisfied. It was time to head for the cottage. A religious man might be praying to whatever God they believed in, but he had lost what faith he'd possessed before he was turned. He looked up at the sky. _Yes you would do that to me_, he thought…_I should have grabbed her, locked her away in a tower…_

Harper watched Wyndam ride away, his face expressionless. He rubbed at his temple, should he have let her go? There were worse places she could be kept…he knew all about them…

Darkness had fallen by the time Wyndam reached the cottage. He dismissed Jacob, who was eager to get away, glad that the Old One's wrath would not be directed at him. Wyndam knocked loudly on the door. He knew exactly what Jenny would be doing, sitting at the table, facing the fire. She opened the door, without looking at him.

"Wyndam…" Behind her, the cottage was in darkness. The only light came from the flames of the fire. He bowed his head.

"Jenny…" She stepped aside to let him pass. She was too quiet, he thought. He stood for a moment, his sharp eyes adjusting to the gloom. She resumed her seat at the table, sitting motionless. She was waiting for the retribution…something was set down on the table…his eyes went to Isobel's door;

"I understand there was an incident…"

"An incident…" she echoed, an edge in her voice.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" he asked, tentatively. She didn't answer him, but her eyes left the fire, and focused on his. She was sitting so tightly wound at the table, her back was rigid. Wyndam raised an eyebrow, but she didn't respond. He turned, and lit the candles above the fire, lifting one, and turning back towards her. The faint glow of the candle caught what was sitting on the table. A pistol, the one Harper had left with her, lay pointing at him. If Wyndam was surprised, he failed to show it. He sat down calmly, as though it was a perfectly normal scene. He could see a slight tremble in her hands as she lifted the pistol carefully, not pointing it, merely holding it, her fingers clamped around it. Fear and anger, and a pistol…not a good combination, he thought to himself.

"I could just pull the trigger..." she sounded so subdued.

"You wouldn't...It wouldn't kill me, just make a terrible mess..." He made a show of looking down at the stone floor. She'd had time for the fear and anger to build...how to play it...

"I could..." she repeated.

"Oh I'd say I'm pretty safe. You'd probably blow your own brain out, the way you're holding that pistol..." He pointed a forefinger at the weapon. Her eyes flashed with temper. That's better, a reaction, he thought.

"Who gave you the pistol?" As if he didn't know...Harper and his soft spot...She raised her head slightly, and said softly;

"It's a stake through the heart, isn't it?" Wyndam blinked, but he held her gaze;

"My...someone has been talking...Harper you are an idiot..." She shook her head gently.

"No, he didn't. I saw him end Ramsey..." she took a deep breath, "and your wounds...I dressed them, remember..." He smiled, darkly. She'd clearly been going over everything...

"You would need the element of surprise, though. I would take your head off..." There was the vampire nature, just under the surface. The bite. A shiver ran through her.

"Someone came very close to killing you, didn't they?" A malicious gleam appeared in his eyes.

"They _failed..."_ He gave her a rueful smile. "All this talk of killing..." He pushed his chair back, and got to his feet. Jenny stayed where she was, the pistol still in her hands. He stretched out a hand;

"Give me the pistol...you've made your point..."

"You said you would protect us..." He could hear the strain in her voice.

"And I have...I've killed my own kind to protect you..." he replied in a low voice, but she wasn't listening._ If Isobel was a..._

"Under your protection?" She shot to her feet, and lashed out at him, her anger getting the better of her. He grabbed her arms, and yanked the pistol from her hands. He said through gritted teeth;

"I'll let that one go...you are distressed...but no more..." He knew he was hurting her, but this mood was not healthy for anyone. He released her slowly, she pulled away from him.

"Sit down..." Her eyes flashed with temper. Women, he sighed...

"Please..." She sat down; her eyes went automatically to Isobel's door. "What were you doing outside, in the middle of the night?" She glanced back up at him, and waited a second to answer him.

"Isobel...she slipped out...she wanted to see the stars...she couldn't wait..." Such a childish act, he thought, one that had nearly cost him a seer, and the child her life too. He turned back to the fire, and placed the pistol out of the reach of little fingers. Under his breath, he said;

"Isobel..." Jenny caught sight of her daughter, peeping round her door. What had she seen, and heard...?

"Isobel...come here..." He turned as he said it, his face almost human. "No one is going to punish you, child..." She gazed up at her mother, who smiled pleasantly. She stepped forward. Wyndam took her hand, and led her to the table, where he sat down again.

"Now...I've been hearing about this very bad wolf...what were you doing outside at that time of night? Scaring your mother, and disobeying her as well?" he said sternly. He tipped her chin, assessing her. He couldn't smell the wolf on her, but then again...

"I'm sorry Mum...sir..." said Isobel, remorsefully.

"Where is this scratch that so worried your mother?" He'd gotten just a flash of it from Harper. Jenny went ice cold. Isobel looked over nervously at her mother, who nodded once at her. She drew up her dress just a little, revealing a thin, pink sliver of a scratch on her shin...Wyndam smiled, relieved. The wound was healing, Jenny would realise that when the fear subsided. A wolf's would never heal fully...

"It was Ruth's cat, Mum...I was scared you wouldn't let me go back...I won't disobey you again..." He was observing her so intently, that Isobel looked up at her mother with wide eyes. She really was in big trouble...

"No you won't, will you, Isobel..." said Jenny softly, then she noticed something. "Sweetheart, where is your necklace?" She had one eye on Wyndam as she said it. He rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair, not this again...

"I took it off...it didn't stop the..." The child was faltering; she knew she'd been naughty. Jenny got up, and took her daughter's hand. "You will put it back on. You gave me your word..." The child was screwing her eyes up with sleep; she was so tired all of a sudden...Jenny led her to her room. The cross was hanging from the bed. She smiled to herself, she had taken care of it...She placed it over Isobel's head as she tucked her in.

"What was...?" Jenny halted at the door. Without looking around, she said;

"It was a big wolf, Isobel...nothing more..." she closed the door quietly behind her.

"There are worse things in this world than vampires, Jenny..." Wyndam said, in a low voice.

"Wolves don't...they don't choose..." she replied, riling him.

"Not everyone chooses to become a vampire...some do not have that luxury..."

"They don't kill to feed..." she countered.

"_Ah..."_ said Wyndam cynically, "Lilian told you about werewolves, but not vampires...your grandmother has a lot to answer for..." He sighed. "No, but they don't tend to discriminate when they kill..." He paused, before adding, "One scratch and their curse passes on..."

"One bite and your's can..." It was out before she could stop herself. Wyndam smiled, wryly;

"Actually, it's a bite, then a transmission of blood...it used to be called a covenant...it was considered an honour to be chosen, in the old days..." He had a strange, faraway expression.

"They are your enemies, aren't they? Wolves..." She was remembering an old recollection, something her grandmother had said, near the end;

"We were all put here for a reason..."

She was too sharp, he thought. She caught the faint look of surprise, and explained.

"Jacob said something about skinning...it..." Good, he thought, she was thinking of the wolf as an 'it'. He looked away, then said;

"There's history...we don't like them...they don't like us..."

"With good reason, it would appear," she replied, "It...had a collar and chain..." At that remark, Wyndam stood, his temper flaring.

"You would care about wolves, wouldn't you? Your 'family' sided with them in the Dark Times...thought they could_ cure_ them..." He laughed, bitterly. "As if the supernatural can be tamed...it's what we _are..._it's who we are..." She said quietly;

"What happened to my..."

"They lost...they chose the wrong side." He said, simply.

_Aagh...why couldn't she just keep her head down...there was no way back once she was out in the open...her fate would be a dungeon...they had plenty of those..._

Jenny gasped. He'd forgotten how powerful she'd become. He turned away for a moment, and gazed into the fire, cooling his temper.

"The scratch wasn't caused by a wolf. She's human..." He heard an audible sigh of relief. He turned to see Jenny sinking into the chair at the fireside. He continued.

"We can...smell wolves...I'd keep an eye on her at the next Full Moon, if I were you, just in case, a strong lock on the door..." She glared at him. He raised his hands. "No, you're right. It's not a laughing matter. You could both have been killed, or worse, last night..." He sat down opposite her.

"And if she had...or I had...been scratched..." she said, apprehensive.

"You weren't..." he replied, softly. She persisted;

"Would you have let us go...?" He leant forward.

"I can't let you go...there are others out there who would not be as...kind..." The truth, or a version of it...

"Can't...or won't...?" She had the strangest feeling...

"I don't want you to be afraid of me..."

"Well it's a bit late for that," she said, curtly. He burst out laughing. She smiled herself at the absurdity of the situation. "Did you know there were wolves out there?" He looked at her seriously, before answering.

"No..." There was something in his look that...She looked away...he was too close...she stood up. She moved only a few steps before she stopped, her back to him.

"Why," she asked in a muted tone, "why all this..."

"Why not?" was the answer. She knew he was standing behind her, she was acutely aware of how close he was now...She felt his fingers stroke her arms so gently.

_Ssh..._ Her breathing was calming, her heart was slowing...she wanted the voices to stop...the fear to end...the familiar pull...

_Yes...I don't want you to fear me..._ She wanted to lean back, to hear that everything would be fine, to fool herself...

_Everything will be alright..._

She knew he was lying, but she had to believe...it was too late to run...It was the tone of his voice, so soft, lulling her, almost like she was falling into a trance...He rested his head against her's. He was so close, she could hear his breathing. It had been so long since anyone had held her like that...since she'd felt that connection...that closeness...the need for comfort...

_Yes..._

She pulled away from him, the effort it took...

"How many has that worked on?" She said, with venom, not seeing the look of dismay on his face when she broke the connection. She looked deep into the fire, then turned to face him, finally recognising the truth. The realisation that she's his...she's been his since before she was born...

_Yes..._

"So lonely..."

"Yes..."

"What if she wakes...?"

"She won't..." She tensed. He smiled warmly.

"No...ssh...listen..." She could hear Isobel's breathing, she was fast asleep.

"Why would I hurt her? You would never come to me if I did..." He stroked her face tenderly. He sighed.

"You're under my skin, Jenny..." It was her turn to smile.

"Literally..." she replied. A knowing look. "Let me in..." she said softly.

_Two lost souls..._

She kissed the palm of his hand. She'd made her decision.

"Yes..."

_Everything will be alright...I promise..._

He lay awake beside her, watching over her as she slept. She was so warm...so human...so much more...

"You've already lost..." he said, sadly.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The dream again. This time there are subtle differences. She is so cold…there is darkness all around her, completely impenetrable, and silence…such silence…as cold and dark as the grave…

Whispers in the dark…

Then she can hear her own voice;

"Where are you? Where's my Isobel?" She hears a scream, that's cut short, as though whoever it was…she stumbles towards the sound; falling over things that claw at her ankles…She can just make out a sign in front of her…she approaches it warily. Two paths seem to lead off…one smooth, the other rough and long, it seems to go on forever…There's a figure sitting beside the sign…she can see the sign more clearly now…it's not a road sign at all…she sees it now…a large dark cross stands before her…she can hear sobbing…

"Isobel?" she asks, uncertainly.

The figure looks up; it's her daughter, with her sweet smile.

"I didn't mean to…"

"I know, sweetheart…come here…come home…" The child runs towards her, just as the world seems to turn upside down…the ground around them is churning…they both slip and fall…no matter how desperately she scratches at the glaur around her, she can never quite reach Isobel…she manages to crawl to her feet…just as the familiar scene unfolds in front of her again…

Isobel disappears in a sea of bodies…she can't breathe…she can't cry out…it's as though someone has ripped her heart out…then silence…Wyndam kneeling beside her…but for once, the dream doesn't end…

_Close your eyes…_

A large room…familiar somehow…she can't quite place it…there are other people in the room, but their faces are blurred, she can't make out their features…Wyndam stands to the left of her, another man to her right…the other man turns to face her…he smiles sadly at her…he has a kind face, she thinks…it's the silence that scares her the most…that, and the fact that Wyndam's not looking at her…there's a bundle on the ground, a few feet in front of her…she steps forward…

Jenny woke with a start, her heart racing. Such pain…she shivered, unsure of where she was for a moment, then her eye caught the glint of the looking-glass that sat by her bed. The cottage, home, and the awareness that she wasn't alone, that someone else was in the room. Wyndam lay beside her, seemingly fast asleep. He stayed, she thought, he hadn't left her, unlike...him...Brief, fleeting moments, clutched at whilst backs were turned, never quite knowing if they were being watched. Feeling so cheap and tawdry...

"Can I..." her flesh had crawled, as she smiled so pleasantly, listening to his attempts at flattery...

"You're so pretty...you're not what they say you are...such a shame...can I just..."

She'd sold what little she had to be left alone, all but her mother's ring, others had grabbed at the chance to be used, hoping to plead their way out of their cell. He'd been waiting for her to break;

"If you're nice to me...I can make your life...easier...more...comfortable..."

The reward for her sin? A cold, damp cell to herself...all the more private...it was the only way out...she'd seen it in their eyes, as they questioned her, over and over again...heard the whispers behind the door;

"It's a foregone conclusion. She's Elspeth Ross' whelp...the old witch Lilian is mouldering in her grave, so unless she really can summon up the Deil himself, it's only a matter of time. She's not like the rest of them, though, I'll give her that. She's quiet...no trouble at all...they are the ones you watch. They try to end it before..." The voices had faded away...she'd known then what she had to do...The next time her inquisitors had left her to her own devices, to snatch some sleep before she was dragged back in with the rest of the prisoners...she had waited for the familiar footsteps to pass, and called out;

"Please help me..." And he had stopped...

_You can't escape fate...no matter how far you run..._

Stop it, she thought. She was alive, and so was Isobel. She was the one good thing to come out of those terrible days; even when she'd been calling God every name under the sun as she gave birth to her, she'd never regretted having her.

Let her live...let Isobel live...that's all I ask...

She looked down at Wyndam, who seemed to be barely breathing, he lay so still. She stroked his face, she could feel stubble...how could that happen? He was...dead...how could...He stirred slightly, a soft sigh...She slipped out of the bed, pulling a blanket around her, as his hand reached out for her. She turned when she felt his touch, but his eyes were closed, he was still asleep. She tiptoed over to the door, and unlocked it. The key made a loud click as it turned in the lock. She stole a peek over her shoulder at Wyndam, but he hadn't woken at the noise. Why am I creeping about my own house? She thought. She walked more confidently through the kitchen to Isobel's door. She opened it slowly, just a crack, to check on her. Isobel lay in a heap of blankets, a little smile on her face. Jenny could hear her breathing, the blankets rising and falling in turn. She closed her eyes, and smiled to herself, pulling the door shut. She gazed around the kitchen; everything was as it should be. Her eyes went back to her own bedroom door. That was where everything had become a little...complicated.

She turned the key in the lock, again shutting herself in a locked room with a vampire, she mused. She tugged the blanket round herself a little more tightly, and sat down in the chair in the corner. She drew her legs up beneath her, and rested her chin on her knees, waiting for dawn to break, just watching him sleep. The healer in her was fascinated, he shouldn't exist...

Jenny stared down at the floor, at the jumble of clothes lying where they'd fallen; as she and Wyndam had stumbled through the room, desire finally getting the better of them both, the need for comfort finally breaking through. She had let her guard down, and this was the result. That wasn't all she'd let down, she thought with a wry smile. It had been so long since...She ran her fingers down both sides of her throat, remembering...half-whispered curses as each layer of clothing came away...her soft laugh in response...then, finally, his hands lingering on her waist...his fingers deftly loosening her stays...the longing they both had for each other...his touch...his fingers had been so cold, it had felt like ice tingling on her skin...but they'd warmed with the heat of her skin...

Such an intensity there, that she'd never known...then a slowing...a need to make it last...the closeness, the intimacy...they'd clung to each other, neither wanting to be the one who let go...

She had felt desire, pain, loneliness, anger, sadness, emptiness, so many emotions, but she'd felt no fear with him; even when she'd felt the hunger claw its way to the surface, the tension in him snapping. She rested her cheek against his, waiting for it to subside;

"You let me in..." she said softly, stroking his hair, knowing his eyes were blackening as he moved his head slightly, to kiss her throat.

"Don't..." she waited for the pain, knowing she'd been a fool to trust him.

_I've met my death...one way or another._._._she acknowledged...

"No...Not you..." he whispered, pulling back from her, but she didn't flinch at the sight of those cold black eyes. Instead, she kept her hands on his face, the connection, and looked deep into those soulless eyes, feeling the rage, the hunger, burn in him, then the sensation of it finally giving way, as he blinked the blackness away...the strangeness of only hearing her own heartbeat, as she lay beside him, thinking this is madness...what am I doing...

"Solace..." he said with a smile, the blue eyes now back in place.

"Peace..." she replied.

"My soul hasn't known peace in nearly six hundred years, Jenny."

"So you have a soul," she countered, raising her head to look at him. His mouth held the hint of a dark smile.

"Do I?" he said, dryly.

There was a dark fascination there, on both their parts, she recognised that now.

"There's a darkness in you..." Was that what was drawing them together? Two outsiders...

"Two lost souls..." he'd said...

Broken souls, she would say.

When had fate decided her path? Was it the moment Lilian Ross had walked into that tavern; or the moment Jenny had felt that pure hatred for her father, and that tiny glint of power, as she'd made him cry out in pain...

Had she really been lost since that moment...the darkness slipping into her soul...waiting in the shadows...waiting for him?

"I hate you..." She was just a child, she hadn't known the power of her words, the effect they would have...

"Pain...I wish you pain..." The thoughts of a grieving daughter, the images of her mother's fate burned on her soul. The fear it could happen again, it would happen if she didn't hide her true nature, conceal the abilities that were already appearing. How many times had her grandmother cast aside any questions? Wyndam understood that, she was drawn to the supernatural, even as she ran from it. It was a part of her, as much as the need to breathe...and to protect...

A dark night of the soul...

It was only ever a matter of the terms of the deal...

She sighed softly, feeling the chill of morning. She ran her fingers down her neck, absent-mindedly. No wounds, she thought to herself. Hunger and desire seemed to be closely linked, for a vampire. And close to the surface. She would have to remember that...

She took a deep breath, and then let it go slowly. What had she done? She had kept one monster without, and brought another within...

Yet, he had been kind, for a vampire, at least. He could have killed her that first night and Isobel too. They could have woken to find their doors...or...Before last night, the dream had never changed, but something had happened to alter it. She had seen further, but to what purpose? The vagueness of the supernatural when it lifted the veil between the worlds...

Then a little kernel of an idea...

_You chose..._

She looked over at Wyndam, but he had his back to her, seemingly still asleep.

_You chose this...you wanted it to happen...you wanted the closeness as much as he did...you can fool yourself that you were distracted, that you were lonely, afraid. But it all comes down to the same thing..._

She sighed again, raising her eyes to the ceiling. Had she been too easy with him?

"Woman, you are anything but easy..." Her gaze fell on the bed. Wyndam had turned, and clearly been watching her, his eyes were fixed on her's. He stretched out lazily, stifling a yawn. She smiled back.

"What am I thinking now?" The vampire narrowed his eyes, and leant his head to one side, as though he was deliberating before answering;

"Was that a slap?" She laughed at that. She looked so young, sitting there, he thought. And much too serious.

"Come back to bed..." He reached out a hand, to beckon her, but she didn't respond. The laughter was gone.

"What do you see, when you look at me?" She asked, timidly, as though she were afraid of what he might answer. She had asked a similar question of him once before. He drew himself up in the bed, and lay back against the pillows.

"A survivor..." he said finally, his eyes not leaving her face.

"Like you..." she replied. He gave her a brief smile, before changing the subject.

"Far too serious a discussion for this time of morning," there was the sardonic edge in his voice. "I'm getting cold. Come back to bed." He looked almost human, she thought. Almost...but not quite.

"Are you ashamed of what we did?" He said, patiently, as though he'd been expecting her to regret last night.

"No," she answered quickly. A little too quickly. Humans and their morality...

"Good." He shifted his weight in the bed, trying to find the most comfortable spot. "You don't go to Hell for enjoying yourself, despite what the good Reverend may tell you..." She stiffened slightly, and pulled the blanket tighter around her.

"No?" She sounded dubious.

"No..." he replied. She raised her chin.

"Well, you would know..." A slight dig there, he thought. That was better.

"You won't fall for a child, if that's what's worrying you. I am...dead...so..." There was a flash of something in her eyes, recognition, he thought.

"That's not how you have your families, is it?" Sharp as ever, he noted.

"No...We get to choose our family members. Not sure if it's any better than the normal way..." he was remembering the circle...old friends...

"What was I to be?" She asked, so smoothly it threw him momentarily. A play for time, or the truth?

"You really want to know?" She nodded. He looked away for a second, before turning back to her, with what he hoped was his most honest expression. It had been so long since he'd seen his own face, except in her memories...

"Lilian requested that you enter my service. She was very specific about that point..." Jenny interrupted him;

"That part of the deal..." Wyndam shook his head.

"It was never agreed. I've told you that. Your grandmother changed her mind, she didn't like the terms I proposed. The agreement was to wait until you were older...In return, you would be protected..." She interrupted him again;

"Against?" He sighed, before continuing.

"Your kind have a nasty habit of ending up on bonfires, or in barrels of tar..." he saw the look of pain on her face. He'd been too near the bone. That wound ran deep. "Humanity doesn't always know the value of life..."

"Says the vampire who takes it..." He grinned darkly at that comment. The time had come to tell her.

"You would have been recruited, eventually. You would have joined our ranks. Your abilities would have been recognised, and prized too highly, for you to have been allowed a human life; a mortal life...It would only have been a question of when, not if..."

"Whether I wanted to, or not?" There was no anger in her tone, merely an acceptance. Wyndam held her gaze, but didn't answer.

"And now?" She enquired, her eyes searching for the truth.

"What do you want to happen, Jenny?" He said, softly. She looked away.

"I have a choice?" He smiled gently.

"You will always have a choice. I owe you that," he said. "You are too human, for our kind of life. If I'd found you in Edinburgh, you would have been taken to a castle on the east coast. You would have been...comfortable...but not happy...you would have died a little each day, as those walls closed in...Grown cold...and full of hate..."

"Then become one of you..." Was that what her grandmother had seen? A future with no warmth, no joy...She hesitated, considering her words carefully. Her whole future, and Isobel's, could depend on what she said next.

"I want Isobel to be safe. I want her to grow up, and have a life, a good life..."

"And for yourself?" She swallowed hard, before looking him straight in the face.

"I would like to be happy, Wyndam. I would like to stop looking over my shoulder for five minutes..."

"Then that is what will happen." He reached out his hand again. This time, she stood up, and walked slowly over to the bed, the blanket still pulled tight around her, as she sat down beside him.

"So what do we do now?" There was a natural shyness there, as she said it.

"I can think of a few things..." Wyndam replied, stroking her neck. She twisted away.

"Ah..." she responded, her tone playful. "So you want me to be your whore, do you?"

"Well...if you're offering..." Her head shot round, her temper flaring. The first blow caught him by surprise; he caught her arm, as she swung at him a second time.

"That put some colour back in your cheeks...Remind me not to get on your bad side..." She burst out laughing, then stopped at the serious look on his face. He was staring at the wound he had left on her wrist.

"That should have healed by now." He ran his thumb over the mark, tracing the edges of the wound. She caught the slight unease in his voice.

"It doesn't hurt as much...I thought it was healing..." she said, peering at the wound. It was less inflamed, but still obvious. "What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure, probably nothing..." he said, briskly. "Now, where were we?" He looked up at her, the now familiar gleam in his eyes.

"We don't have long." Jenny's gaze drifted towards her bedroom door. "She wakes early...I don't want her to..." she felt his hand turn her face towards his, "know..." A wry smile in answer.

"Then we should make the most of the time we have, Jenny..."

* * *

><p>"Ouch!" She bit back a curse, as Wyndam helped her on with her clothes, pulling the laces on her corset tight.<p>

"Just how many layers do you wear, woman?" He muttered, as he handed her another robe. They had both overslept, if Isobel wasn't awake, it would be a miracle.

"You're telling me that vampire women don't wear all these?" she asked, her voice muffled by the gown she was trying to pull over her head. Wyndam was pulling on his boots.

"No...It makes things a whole lot easier." She started to pull at her hair to make it somehow respectable, as she said archly; "Oh, does it? Perhaps that's why vampires are always cold..." she ducked away from him, as he made to grab her. Her hand knocked the small looking glass from the table. It smashed on the ground, shattering apart. She bent to pick up the pieces, lifting the largest shard. She felt Wyndam's hands on her arms, as she looked down at the image in front of her. It was so unreal, to see her face in the mirror, knowing Wyndam was physically there, holding her, and yet she could see nothing. Not even a glimmer of an image.

"Yes, you still have a reflection," he whispered, as he kissed her neck, "and a pulse...Which reminds me...how shall we break our fast..." He felt her go rigid, but he didn't let her go. He would have to remember to temper the dark humour.

"This doesn't have to happen again, if you don't want it to..."

"I was that much of a disappointment?" She answered quietly; her eyes were on her reflection still, searching for the sin...

"No..." he chuckled, "far from it." He relaxed his grip on her. "Do you want to go back...to the way things were...the way it was?" As if they could...

She turned to face him, those sad grey eyes looking for reassurance. She had made her decision the night before, there was no way back...

"No..."

* * *

><p>"Come on child, don't you want to see Ruth?" Jenny called after her daughter, who seemed to be clinging to the cottage after the nightmare of the wolf. As they neared the village, they could hear shouts, and a pounding, snorting sound. A crowd was milling round something. As they got closer, Jenny could see what was causing the commotion. A chestnut horse was lashing out at every person who went near it, its eyes wild with fear, it was lathered in sweat. There were deep gashes on its near side. Ramsey's horse...she caught her breath, and reached for Isobel's hand. Her daughter's eyes were transfixed. She was eyeing the wounds, remembering the big wolf...A pair of eyes watched her silently, lost in the crowd.<p>

"Isobel," whispered Jenny, "It's gone...it can't..." but the child wasn't listening, she could barely move. Burnett braved the flailing hooves, to catch the torn bridle, but then the horse reared back, tearing away from him, and cantered straight through the wooden fence, in front of the Burnett's cottage. The horse's screams of pain made Isobel cover her ears.

"Make it stop," she whimpered, "make it stop..."

Jenny walked over towards the terrified animal, which was weaving backwards and forwards looking for a way out of the garden.

"Whoa," she said softly, "Whoa...it's alright..." The animal was having none of it; it threw its head at her approach. The crowd were not helping; the horse was growing more afraid by the minute. She stepped through the broken fence, so calmly.

"Whoa...no one's going to hurt you...nothing's going to hurt you...ssh..." The horse stood shivering, its eyes wide. Jenny reached out slowly, her hand just touching the tip of the horse's muzzle.

"I know...ssh..." she stepped closer, stroking the horse gently between its eyes. "I know," she whispered to it, "but it's gone..." The horse whinnied. The same animal who had been thrashing out at everyone and everything a moment before, was now standing as though it were a child's pony.

"Would you look at that..." murmured Burnett, who was now holding a cloth to his forehead.

"You didn't mean that, did you?" Jenny whispered to the horse, which was quieting down.

"It might be kinder to..." The voice of Reverend Alston cut in. She shook her head, knowing Isobel was watching.

"I'm sure someone will claim him," she said, but not Ramsey...she shivered herself at the memory. "I'll look after him for now." Then she remembered that Burnett was standing there.

"Are you alright? It looks nasty." Burnett shrugged.

"I've had worse from the Mrs...I forgot to mention, with all this..." he waved a hand round the demolished garden, "I wondered if you saw or heard anything strange the other night?" Jenny bent down to pick up the broken rein of the now-docile horse, the better to hide her face.

"What night was this?" She made a show of examining the horse's wounds, as she gathered her thoughts.

"A couple of nights back, the Full Moon," he continued. "A few people thought they heard a wolf's howl...it looks like there could be one out there, judging by that horse's injuries." She stood up suddenly, the horse neighed in response. She pulled its ear to calm it.

"No...I haven't seen anything..." Isobel's eyes shot to the Reverend's. That was a _lie_, and her mother never told lies...

"Oh well...if there is a wolf out there, we'll find out soon enough. We'll have a look around with the dogs later; see if this one's owner hasn't taken a fall somewhere." That was the last thing she wanted.

"Wait," she let go of the horse, thinking on her feet. If the dogs picked up the scent of the...wolf…the snow was melting, removing any physical traces of what had happened, but if they detected anything, it would mean questions, questions she couldn't answer. Who would believe her?

"There was a pedlar…He chapped the door in the middle of the night, said he'd fallen from his horse. I wouldn't let him in," she rushed on, "He seemed fine to me, threw some oaths at me that I didn't appreciate…I sent him on his way with a few choice words…" she smiled ruefully. "Not very Christian of me, I know, but…" Burnett nodded, his mind on other things.

"You did right. Better safe than sorry." He was staring intently at a window in his cottage. His wife hadn't appeared, even with all the noise and confusion. "She's not good. She…she sees things sometimes…" he confided, the strain obvious. Jenny kept her own counsel. There was little she could do now for the woman. The tincture she'd given, could take away some of the pain, but it dulled the senses. Mrs Burnett would have lucid moments, then fail as the tincture took effect.

"I don't want her to be in pain…" A sharp memory of her grandmother lying in her sick bed, the bottle by her bed…why did you…No…she snapped back to the present. The concern of a loving husband, something she'd never had herself…or will have…said the little voice in her head…

"I'll look in. You need to get some witch hazel on that cut. It'll help stop the bleeding." She lifted the rein; Isobel took her cue and began to follow.

"A fine horse for a _pedlar_ to have, Reverend Alston…" The man turned to see who'd spoken aloud the very same thought he'd had, but the crowd was gradually dispersing; now the excitement was over. The Reverend wasn't even sure whether it was a man or a woman's voice he'd heard. A strange day, indeed…

Jenny knew Isobel was too quiet as they walked back home. All thoughts of seeing Ruth had been forgotten, and she was walking by her mother's side, not the horse's.

"Mother…" Oh that sounded serious, thought Jenny, keeping her eyes on the path in front of them.

"Yes, Isobel…I know…I told a lie…" She stopped the horse, not wanting to see the look on her daughter's face.

"But why?" _Because your mother will end up on one of those bonfires if anyone finds out what really happened, Isobel…_

"No one would believe us, if we told them, sweetheart." There was no body, she reasoned, Harper had seen to that. "You know when I…see things…and we don't talk about it…" Isobel nodded, a little downcast. "It's gone, Isobel. The…men…made sure it won't hurt anyone, ever again…"

"So it's a white lie, Mum…" Isobel was trying to understand, in her own way.

"Yes. The good kind." Was there any truth in that, Jenny wondered?

"God forgives those, Mum." She ruffled Isobel's hair. The child smiled at last.

"Yes, he does, sweetheart." I hope…

He's made me a liar, she thought. A little prick of conscience…_Oh you were that before you met him…_

* * *

><p>"Blood of my blood…" All the good souls lining up to take Communion. Jenny sat, contemplating the stained glass of the window, as Isobel fidgeted, kicking her heels against the hard pews. Reverend Alston preaching about the need to look after each other…she drifted off.<p>

_I am a hypocrite_…she thought, as she joined the line. She took the sacrament. The Reverend beaming the assured smile of a believer.

_I am surprised I don't choke…_

The Reverend wiped the cup, as she moved to the right. If only it were that easy to wipe away your sins…How many times had she taken Wyndam into her bed now? Almost a month had gone past since that night...Sitting bolt-upright in church each Sunday, looking for a sign, and…nothing. No forgiveness, but no condemnation from above either.

Yet.

You have the mistress of a vampire sitting below you, Reverend. In your very congregation. I wonder how that would sit with your faith, and reason…She rebuked herself for thinking callously. He had always been kind to them. She sat back down at Isobel's side, catching the eye of the hooded woman sitting directly behind her. She took her hood down. The mother of the baby… Jenny bowed her head, politely. The gesture was met with a stern grimace. Clearly there was still no love lost there. She could feel the woman's hatred burning, as she faced the altar, but when Jenny stood up to leave; the woman was nowhere to be seen. As they left the churchyard, Isobel whispered to her mother;

"That lady…" Jenny was sure the woman hadn't been sitting there when she'd gone up for Communion…

"What lady?" Isobel scowled, and looked down at her boots.

"The one who had the baby…She asked me if I wanted to play a game…" Jenny stopped as though she'd been struck. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest, she struggled for a breath.

"What game?" she breathed, strengthening her grip on her daughter's hand.

"Hide and seek," said Isobel. The familiar trickle of fear ran down Jenny's spine…

* * *

><p>Another night.<p>

"Was that Hastings?" A curt laugh, in response.

"No...Fell off a horse..."

She lay, curled up in Wyndam's arms, before the fire, watching the flames flicker and fall. Nothing in the ashes...Comparing scars like badges of honour.

"From...before you were..?"

"Yes..." She had run her fingers down his chest...not a mark...There were no signs of the wounds she'd dressed.

"We heal..." he'd told her. "The blood heals us..." But not inside, she thought...

He was staring at the little chip of turquoise on her right hand.

"It was my mother's ring," she explained. "It's all I have left..." she paused; feeling the tears coming.

_That's your conscience...and guilt..._

She blinked them away, and caught Wyndam's right hand. She had never looked closely at the ring he wore, until tonight. It had a flat, dark stone at the centre. There was a faint engraving on the surface, like a sail, or a hammer...He twisted the ring around, so she could no longer see the centre.

"A gift...when I became an Old One..." He sounded so distant.

"Like a crucifix, or a rosary, at a certain age?" The hint of a dark smile on his face.

"Yes..." but a gift with a terrible price...

"We wear different faces to different people..." he said, subdued. She tilted her head, the better to see his expression. His face was set, like a mask. She laid her head back down on his chest, feeling the need for comfort. The fire was dying. She waited a moment before confessing;

"Don't we all?"

* * *

><p>The nineteenth of December. The winter solstice was two days away. Not long until Christmas now, thought Jenny stabbing her finger on a quill. It was their first in the cottage.<p>

"Will you sit still, child? You're like a rabbit bobbing up and down," she complained, but she said it mildly. She was sitting at the table; attempting to draw Isobel on a piece of linen, scraps left over from a nightgown she'd been making Isobel for Christmas. Well, the stitching would be a bit skellie, admittedly sewing was never her strongest point, but it would fit her. She was getting taller all the time...

"Can I have a piece to draw on?" Isobel was peeking over her mother's shoulder now. Jenny laughed, and covered the drawing with her hand, to tease her.

"Go on," she said, handing her a quill and a scrap. "But watch what you're doing with the ink..."

She hadn't drawn anything in years, but she'd felt the sudden urge to sketch Isobel. She laid down the quill, and examined her efforts. Not bad, for a first attempt. She gazed over at Isobel, who was scratching away with her quill at the foot of the table. Jenny leant over on her elbows.

"What are you drawing?" Isobel didn't look up.

"Mr Wyndam's horse..." Her mother smiled. What else would it be? Jenny picked up another scrap from the pile, and dipped her pen in the ink. She began to scratch out a face on the linen, almost absentmindedly. Isobel coughed gently, to catch her attention.

"What, love?" Jenny said, a faraway look in her eye. Isobel had a very serious look on her face.

"I've drawn the white horse too...won't Mr Wyndam's horse mind?" Jenny smiled patiently.

"No. I'm sure if you feed him an apple, the next time you see him, he'll forgive you."

The next time you see him...There was a Full Moon that night, and in spite of Wyndam's reassurances, she was uneasy, and keeping a watchful eye on Isobel. He'd left them alone, for the couple of days, but she knew he would be back, and find...what? There were no signs of...though what would she look for, anyway? She'd pressed him, and received a terse answer;

"They start to shiver, when they feel the curse coming on, scream in agony...does that answer your question?" He hadn't been feeding as much; she'd known that, the edge to his voice, the sharpness in his features. That was the part that most troubled her, that someone else would suffer, for her sake. Any questions about whether he could abstain...or drink animal blood...were met with a hard stare, and the subject was swiftly dropped. She'd learnt not to press that point. He told her he was feeding less, that the hunger ebbed and flowed. She wanted to believe him, but...She looked down at the scrap, at what she'd been scribbling. In her dwam, she'd drawn Wyndam's face...

A knock on the door. Jenny looked up at the window. The light was fading. It was now late afternoon. He was early...He always came late at night, or early in the morning if he wanted to see her without Isobel's presence causing them...difficulties. She gathered the scraps up, and hurriedly placed them under a pile of clothes, and motioned to Isobel to clear the odds and ends from the table. Everything is normal, she told herself, there is nothing to worry about...She unlocked the door, and opened the latch.

"Wyndam..." It didn't seem right to call him by his first name, even now after the nights they had spent together. It seemed too intimate, for whatever this strange liaison was...

"Jenny." He was already unfastening his cloak as he made his way past her, his keen eyes raking over the room. They came to rest on Isobel, who was sitting down at the table. "How are you, Isobel?"

"Fine, sir. How are you?" Wyndam ran a finger over his chin.

"I am well, Isobel. Are you looking forward to Christmas?" The child beamed a wide grin, and nodded. Jenny leant forward and whispered; "Do vampires even celebrate Christmas?" Wyndam replied in a low voice, keeping his gaze on Isobel.

"Oh yes...but probably not in quite the same way...the odd Christmas dinner making their way to our table..." The dark humour was back, but there was something about his attempts at levity that felt forced. They ate dinner together; all the while Jenny noticed a heightened atmosphere, a tenseness that was normally absent. She was very aware of Wyndam's piercing gaze falling on her, as much as it fell on Isobel. Now...why would that be, she thought. You're waiting to see if she turns, you're not sure of it yourself...Strangely, as the evening continued; Wyndam appeared to visibly relax, as though he had doubted his own words of reassurance, that Isobel hadn't been cursed. He was clearly relieved that she hadn't turned. Jenny, on the other hand, grew more restless as the night wore on, as one thought entered her mind, and stayed there. She settled Isobel down for the night, closing the door behind her. Wyndam sat, waiting for the aftermath. She took her place opposite him at the table; her outward appearance would be calm to anyone but him. He could see the clenched jaw; the tightly-controlled look she gave him, the fire in her eyes was what really gave her away.

"You haven't just come to see if she changes," she hissed, "You've come to see if I do..." The familiar mask was in place, but he couldn't hide the vampire sharpness completely. She continued.

"How very...thorough...of you...you've examined every inch of me..." she muttered sarcastically, remembering the intimacy...seeing it now in a very different light.

"Jenny..." His most inviting tone. Silkily smooth. She cut him off.

"Don't...just don't...You lied to me..."

"How? I haven't deceived you..." he declared, but she ignored him.

"All those nights...where you just checking to see if I'd been scratched? Making sure I wasn't damaged property..." The hurt in her voice...she'd trusted him...

"No...For God's sake woman..." He got to his feet, his own temper beginning to flare. She never made things easy...

"And if she had...if you'd seen her change into..." Jenny tried to compose herself, "What would...would her fate have been the same as that...man's? Or mine..." He held his tongue. She needed to rage. He sat back down, trying to curb his own temper. She should be relieved, not showing this petulance.

"Hunting him down...A chain...like a..."

"Like a dog?" He completed the sentence for her. That lit the fuse. She rounded on him.

"You think I would let you hurt her...kill her..." she could barely utter the words.

"You would lose..." he said softly. The look of sheer ice she gave him...The tight line of his mouth as he answered her.

"She is NOT a wolf...you are not a wolf...There are no other wolves out there...I have been very...thorough..." he threw the word back at her. "The person responsible for allowing...that wolf...to roam free...will be dealt with..." She knew what that meant.

"It was a vampire, wasn't it?" She asked coldly.

"Yes...but his...mistake will be rectified shortly. Permanently..." The depth of her hurt had surprised him. The tension in her...he reached out for her hand, but she pulled back from him, as though she'd been burnt.

"Don't...don't touch me..." There was loathing in her voice. "Please leave...I want you to leave..." He stood up...hesitating for just a moment, before grabbing for his cloak, ripping it down from its hook.

"Yes...I think I will leave you now...I hope to find you in a better mood, the next time we meet..." he halted at the door, his anger barely concealed. "Most people would be grateful that their child hadn't been cursed...praising God to high heaven...but not you...I would suggest that you take a long, hard look at your priorities..." he said harshly, as he slammed the front door. The first human who came across his path, he thought, as he mounted his horse, would not get away so lightly...

Jenny slumped into a chair, as his words hit home. Grateful...she was grateful...she'd lost sight of the fact that Isobel hadn't changed, in her fit of temper. The sin of pride...Their first real argument, she mused, and it hadn't ended in her throat being ripped out...he had walked away.

* * *

><p>Christmas Day. The candle she had lit, and placed in the window, as she did every Christmas Eve, had long since burnt itself out. A jar sat next to it. Mistletoe, freshly cut, to celebrate life...And to ward off witchcraft...a little late perhaps, she smiled wryly.<p>

Nearly a week had passed since Wyndam had stormed out of the cottage. The watchers were still in place though. She'd caught a snatch of their conversation as they changed over, as she hurried by. Harper merely nodded at her, as Jacob whispered;

"He's in a foul mood...we're stuck here...and she's still breathing? If it was Louisa, she'd be floating down the River Calder...Old Ones...What?" he shrugged, at the nudge from Harper.

She was missing his company, and that was dangerous. The people in the village were friendly, but anymore meant questions about her, where she'd come from, her history, and she couldn't tell them anything. Any more information could risk their exposure, and that haunted her as much as the consequences of her actions. He understood her, that was the thing. She didn't have to pretend with him...

The nightgown had fitted Isobel, who had given her mother a little green pot with a small budding plant in it as her gift. It wouldn't be long before it bloomed.

"Mrs Burnett said it's a winter rose...a helle..."

"A hellebore...a Christmas Rose..." said Jenny kindly. "It was a lovely gift, sweetheart. Thank you." The door was chapped. He picked his moments; she had to give him that. The Christmas dinner was nearly ready.

"Yes?" The figure was not the one she'd been expecting, or rather, hoping for. Harper stood, a little uncertainly. He held a package under one arm, which he handed over to Jenny, who stood looking flustered.

"A present from Mr Wyndam. He sends his compliments for the festive season." He turned to walk away, then stopped as Jenny said;

"That's it? No..." No, what? She thought. No kind words? Well, she'd practically thrown him out the door the last time, what did she really expect? Where were her manners...?

"Thank you Mr Harper. Where is...he spending this evening?"

Probably brooding at the fireside, thought Harper. He'd been doing a lot of that lately, if truth be told. A letter had come from London, which had put Wyndam in a fierce temper. Or tearing some poor soul's throat out...

"I'm not sure..." he said quietly, looking down at his feet. He was loyal, she thought.

"You are on watch, I take it?" He nodded grimly. It was a cold day. "I'll see you have something to eat...You can tell Wyndam, he would have been welcome if he'd deigned to put in an appearance...just a minute..." She gazed round the room behind her, trying to find something to give Wyndam in return. Her eyes fell on the scrap of linen, the small portrait she'd drawn of him. She handed it to Harper who looked down at his hand, not understanding. "For Wyndam," was all she said. Jenny shut the door, and carried the package into the kitchen. Isobel's ears had caught the end of the discussion. Her eyes lit on the package.

"Is Mr Wyndam not coming today?" Jenny said quietly;

"No...He sent this in his stead." Presents? Two packages were bundled together in a wrap of linen. One felt bulky, as though a figure was wrapped in it. That one she took to be Isobel's. She handed it to her. Her daughter hastily opened the present, revealing a doll, and a beautiful deep-rose coloured dress. Her daughter's eyes gleamed.

"You'll have to keep it nice, Isobel. It's too good to wear every day." She turned her attention to her own present. She pulled back the linen to find a black lace shawl, edged with silk, and beads. It was so soft and delicate, but where would she wear it? A pair of fine gloves lay underneath, and below that she got a flash of mauve silk, was that a...?

"What's that?" inquired Isobel, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Never you mind..." she answered, lifting the presents up, out of her reach.

At the manor, Wyndam was sitting alone in his study. A fire was blazing away, but it brought him no relief from the cold. Ice seemed to be in his veins that night. Harper was on first watch. He had sent the others away to Manchester, to celebrate Christmas in a more vampiric way...someone snatched from the street, someone who wouldn't be missed...They would be back soon...His mood was so gloomy, these past few days, since the argument. He gazed at the drawing, he'd been going over his old friend's last words;

"Let her go...before it's too late..." But it was already too late...he'd noticed her...she bore his mark...he'd fed from her twice...it should have healed...any vampire could find her...even if he let her go...

But you won't let her go...you can't...

He saw no future for Jenny, or the child, it was as though they were set in a picture frame, still and...

And if the others discovered her...a dungeon would be her fate at best...at worst...a husk to be offered up at the next gathering of the Old Ones...the very thought of it repulsed him.

The blood in his glass, freshly drawn. He took a sip. It tasted like ash in his mouth. A first draft, too. Always the finest. He remembered the feel of her skin, soft and warm, her heartbeat, her touch, it's madness...One day he would wake, and she would be lying beside him, cold, with her neck broken, and puncture wounds all over her fine skin, from his attempts to draw out and savour every last drop of her exquisite blood...

He had stayed away from the cottage, for one reason only. He knew somehow that it would be their last, and that his place was as far as he could get from them. He would not be the cause of whatever was to come...and he would keep those watchers there, despite their grumbles, 'til kingdom come, if necessary.

She doesn't know that he had been her watcher for the last few nights. He kept well back from the cottage, out of her sight. He'd been disappointed that she hadn't known he was out there in the cold. He'd seen a man appear at her door, his face drawn and haggard. Burnett, if he wasn't mistaken. He'd felt a pang of jealousy. He had no real claim on her, she had none on him...but that wasn't quite true, was it? She was wearing the shawl. She'd liked it then. It suited her. He wondered if she was wearing his other gift...She had taken Isobel with her, and a bag. The man's wife was failing then, he thought, but she'd made it to Christmas all the same, thanks to Jenny's skills. He sighed. If she hadn't found him...if she hadn't caught his eye...he'd been reluctant to come back to Lancashire, but the manor was one of their better properties...Something just didn't feel right, as though time was slowing down. Restless times, restless natures...

A change of watch. A light burning in the window. He'd seen the candle on Christmas Eve, too. A light in the dark...

He heard the door open, the glow catching the figure as it closed the door. She was walking towards him silently, her eyes fixed on his.

"Wyndam."

"Jenny." He said, with a slight bow. She smiled.

"Thank you for the presents." Snow was beginning to fall again.

"Do I really look so...sharp?" Ah, she thought, the drawing.

"It's just a drawing," she said softly.

"I've missed you..." That was as much of an apology as an Old One ever made...

She smiled her own apology.

"Why didn't you come in?" He shrugged. The snow was catching in the folds of her shawl.

"This is a refuge for you, isn't it?" she said, understanding now. He smiled in return.

"For us both, Jenny..." He said, wistful.

"It can't last, can it?" she said tentatively, her eyes on his.

"No..." he replied sadly. She lowered her shawl, and reached out to him.

"But for now..." She stretched out her hand. "Please come in...Wyndam...it's too cold out here..." He took the hand she offered. An end and a beginning.

Neither saw the hand that pulled back a branch in the bare trees, hidden in the darkness...


End file.
